Daddy's Girl
by Madam Mimm
Summary: 4/5 years after Seed Of Chucky. "Jennifer" and Glen are getting on with their lives, but Glenda is volatile and troubled. After a nasty argument, memories come flooding back, and Glenda runs away to find her father.  was M, downgraded to T
1. Chapter 1

This is my first Child's Play fanfic, but I've loved the series for ages! Set about four or five years after the end of Seed of Chucky. I warn you, there's going to be language and it might get gory later on, so watch out!

The door to the terracotta Beverly Hills villa slammed, resounding through the quiet midnight, bouncing around the walls of the snooping suburb. Glenda knew as she stormed along the sidewalk, knew full well, that the neighbours would be spying on her from behind their two hundred and fifty dollar venetian blinds. Judging her. Because that's what they always did. "Fuck them", she thought, and then, turning on her heel, yelled back to the empty street.

"Fuck you!" Her cheeks flushed as red as the shock of ginger hair, which bobbed and frizzed around her head as she moved.

"Glenda!" Her mother was at the door, a cardigan wrapped around her arms, her long, dark hair, plastered to her cheeks. "Glenda, you get back here this instant!"

"No!" Glenda screamed back. "I hate you! I hate you, I hate Glen, and I hate your stupid boy-toy too!"

"Glenda!" Her mother snapped, eyes flashing dangerously. "You get back in here and go to your room."

Glenda didn't move. She watched her mother carefully, like a stubborn puppy pushing their masters' limits. She knew her mother could be a scary force when pissed, but then she could be scary, too. After a long, silent pause, in which neither moved, Glenda eventually began to skulk back towards the house. It was cold, and she'd forgotten her coat. She pushed past her mother, not looking her in the eyes, and stomped up the stairs. She continued stomping, past Glen's room, past her room, and past her mothers' room, up to the attic.

"And I hate this fucking house, too!" she screamed back down, as an afterthought, before slamming the attic door behind her.

Her mother closed the door and exhaled, leaning back. Her hands shook.

"What am I going to do with that kid..." she mumbled, taking deep breaths. She looked around, to see Glen's mess of ginger curls, green blue eyes and upturned nose peeking over the back of the sofa.

"Mummy?"

"It's ok, Glen." She exhaled. "Your sister's calming herself down now. Why don't you say goodnight to Neil and go up to bed?"

"Ok, Mummy." Glen smiled. He rushed over, gave his mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and waved at the man on the couch, before clambering the stairs. The man on the couch smiled.

"Jennifer, I don't know how you deal with her." His brilliant white smile made his cheeks dimple, and his light blue eyes shine. His groomed-to-look-scruffy blonde hair made his jaw seem all the stronger, and contrasted with the deep grey of his suit. Jennifer's eyes lit up, as she sat next to him, wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I don't know how you put up with us." She replied. "Not a lot of guys would want a woman with two kids..."

"I love you, Jen." Neil smiled, a warmth in his eyes that she had longed for, for the last nine years. "And I love your career, and I love your kids, and I want to be a part of your life. And eventually I will. I'm not going to leave you because you've got... lively children..."

"Neil, you're so good to me." She smiled, kissing him. He was. And how had she rewarded him? She hadn't told him about her life before she was Jennifer, that's for damn sure. He didn't know she'd ever been Tiffany. He didn't know anything about that part of her life, and as far as she was concerned, he wasn't going to find out. It was safer that way, for everyone. She was grateful that somehow, she and Glen had managed to move on, to keep that part of their lives secret. It seemed that Glenda had completely forgotten who her father was, and where she had come from, which suited her fine. But those violent tendencies... at nine years old, Glenda had been suspended from school seven times, given thirteen official warnings, and expelled twice. She swore like a sailor, had already been warned by neighbourhood police after she killed several strays and pets, and had been taken to a psychologist after she started stealing things. The psychologist later refused to take her for sessions, claiming she was too violent for constructive therapy. Jennifer, as she now called herself, loved her daughter, and she loved Glen. They were both the dearest, most important things to her life. But Glenda scared her, sometimes; she hated to imagine her children being anything like their father, but it was a constant, horrifying fear.

Meanwhile, in the attic, Glenda was throwing , kicking, screaming, and generally venting anger the only way she found satisfying; destruction. Hot, angry tears scorched down her cheeks, her pale skin flushed with fury, her red hair messy and wild, and her hands and face grubby with dust. She threw box after box at the walls, crunching and clattering as they went. She kicked suitcases and punched bin bags full of old clothes. Any thoughts or internal monologue were nothing but nonsensical ranting, obscenities and visions of blood. After a while, she cast around, looking for the next thing to throw, but found they had all bounced off the far wall, and left a two foot wide circle of bare space around her. She continued to cast around, the red mist subsiding as she had run out of fuel. Her face, at first screwed up and twisted in anger, began to uncurl and reset into something altogether sadder. She felt... lost.

She sat down on the floor, her skirt crumpling around her, the dust dancing around her knee-high white socks. She almost looked pitiful, her red hair falling still around her shoulders, her green cardigan catching the glow from a streetlamp outside, making the black of her dress deeper. Like a little doll. She wanted to be a doll, sometimes. She didn't know why. She found herself wanting to dress like one of those old-fashioned china dolls. Her psychologist had said it was a kind of security thing, like she wanted to distance herself from reality. She didn't understand that; she just thought they looked so pretty. Slowly, she reached up and wiped the tears from her eyes, before examining her hands. She hadn't realised she'd been crying. She glared up at the mountain she had made out of the boxes and bags that had been littering the attic. It was all her mother's and Glen's stuff, because they didn't like to throw anything away. She couldn't care less. Once she was done with something, it got binned, or, more usually, broken. Just thinking about this fact set her off again. She stood, and threw herself back into the pile, throwing it all back to the other side of the room. She felt like the odd one out. When it was her mother and Glen being best buddies, she couldn't care less if she wasn't like them, but whenever Neil... fancy-pants, stuck-up, fucking bloody bastard Neil was around, it just made it all the more clear that she wasn't one of them. The familiar crashing and banging sounds became like white noise to her as she tore through all the things, a blanket of destruction where no one would bother her. But, just as suddenly as she had started, she stopped.

She had found, underneath everything else, her mother's brushed steel trunk. She had loved this trunk, but a couple of years ago, her mother had told her it didn't go with the decor, and that she'd donated it to the Goodwill... Carefully, Glenda eased open the lid and looked inside.

There, sat on top of other boxes and bags, was a beautiful doll. Long, blonde hair and deep green eyes... Glenda picked her up, carefully, running her fingers over the silk wedding dress. There was a smudged red mark on the doll's chest, as though someone had drawn on it with felt pens, or... maybe lipstick? Glenda's brow furrowed. This doll was familiar... a memory stirred in the back of her brain. She'd seen the doll... the doll used to stand on the dresser, in their old home... the one they had before they moved to this street. She must have been about five, maybe six at the time... her mother had claimed the doll had gotten lost in the move... there was something else, though, something worse. She remembered being outside, at some sort of party, and walking back to the house. She remembered her mother, and another woman... a maid? And the doll was there too, although she couldn't remember why that was important...

Setting the doll aside, with the intention of taking her downstairs and freaking her mother out, Glenda continued to look through the box. There were lots of newspaper cuttings about some kid named Andy, who seemed to have gone nuts and killed a bunch of people. She didn't care about those. There were bunches more about someone called "The Lakeshore Strangler", a name which floated around her mind but didn't connect to anything. "Charles Lee Ray" was his real name, and that was very familiar... loads of memories were stirring, now, drifting around her brain like kites with tangled strings; no clear point where one ended and another began, and no ability to distinguish one from another. It all felt very significant, but she still couldn't tell why. She carried on looking through the trunk, trying to find some other clues... A necklace, with an inscription on the back, and a blue gem in the middle... she put it aside, and kept looking.

At the bottom of the box was a rectangular cardboard box, about a foot long in length, with a yellow base and a red lid. She suddenly felt an icy chill, and reached towards it very carefully. She picked it up and opened it slowly, wrinkling her nose at the smell of rotten plastic. There, in a dried pool of blood, were chunks of flesh and plastic, wrapped in once blue, now brown fabric. As soon as she had mentally reconstructed the chunks into the form of an arm, she dropped the box and stumbled away from it, her head spinning. She fell to her knees and clutched her chest, her heart suddenly rushing. The room swayed in and out of focus as memories came flooding back to her. Her fifth birthday... the things she'd heard her mother say before then... the meaningful looks between Glen and her mother... seeing her body being born... the hairspray... the acid...

For a very long time, Glenda didn't move. She sat there, breathing heavily, waiting for everything to calm down again. And then, very quietly, she stood up, walked through the attic door, closed it gently behind her, went to her room, and began packing a bag. She took a coat, and her mother's map of L.A, being sure not to disturb anyone. Then, with a level of stealth no one knew she had, she slipped through the door and into the night, clutching the necklace with the blue gem. She didn't know or care if she ever saw any of her family again. She needed to find Charles Lee Ray. The urban myth that surrounded the "killer Chucky doll" was convoluted and strange, but she knew he was real. She knew she had to find him. She remembered, now, and wondered how she had ever forgotten... she remembered that Chucky was her father.


	2. Chapter 2

Glenda marched through the streets, the glow from streetlights making everything look sickly and twisted. Her pale face looked jaundiced, her eyes more hooded, as determination set her face. She had heard rumours going around that the killer doll made his territory around the abandoned block of flats, just before you reached the inner city. She'd seen trashy tabloids proclaiming that people had seen him in the park nearby. She began to wander through the park, keeping quiet and looking all around her. Glenda was clever, even though she'd never scored highly in tests at school. She was a strategic thinker, and could always tell the best times to lie low, the best times to move, and the best ways to evade. These skills made winning games of Hide and Seek very easy... as well as stalking and catching local stray cats. There was no one interesting in the park. Not at one in the morning. Just a couple of very drunk homeless people, who didn't even realise she was there. She continued to creep through the park, until finally giving up ten minutes later and heading back towards the road. As she reached the road, and decided to head towards the abandoned apartment building, she began to have second thoughts. She was about a mile away from her house now, according to the map. What if she didn't find him tonight? She could always rough it for a couple of nights; she wasn't scared and saw no reason to be. But she knew she could get ill or hurt. She knew her mother would come looking for her. She knew that, if she ever got found, they'd turn her over to some psych ward again and say she was crazy. No, it had to be all or nothing now; if she wanted to find her father, then she needed to commit to it, one hundred percent.

She stopped. She hadn't realised, so deep in her own thoughts, where she was going. She looked around, and at the map. She appeared to have gotten lost. Wavering only for a moment, she turned on her heel and started back the way she came, wondering how she could have let her concentration slip. That was when she heard it; quiet, padding footsteps on the sidewalk behind her. She turned around, but couldn't see anyone. She hesitated, but resumed walking, and before long she heard it again. She didn't turn around this time, but sped up a little, and the padding footsteps followed suit. She reached the road by the park, and turned again, but saw no one. She took the necklace out of her pocket, and held it up.

"You can't hurt me!" she called out, not really sure who, what or where she was addressing. "You can't hurt me! I'm Glenda Tilly, and I'll rip your fucking skin off if you touch me. I'm Chucky's daughter!"

"No shit!" came a voice from the shadows, a gnarled cackle of a voice, followed by a manic laugh that shot through Glenda like lightning. She set her face again, though, spreading her feet and lowering her centre of gravity, looking prepared. She now, at least, had an idea of where her follower was. "Shouldn't you be at home, kid? Getting a bed time story or whatever?"

"I've run away." Glenda shot back, scowling. She didn't like to be patronised. "So you can fuck off talking to me like that. I'm trying to find Chucky."

"Why?"

"He's my father."

"No shit, dumbass, I mean why do you want to find him at all? Why not haul ass back home, so your mom can coo over you and make you hot cocoa?"

"You don't know my mother, mister." She spat, a high pitched giggle escaping her lips. "She's a fucking cow, and I don't want anything to do with her."

"Goddamn, you're a potty-mouthed little bitch, ain't ya?" The voice chuckled, sounding more amused than offended. "You really wanna find your dad?"

"Hells yes. I don't belong at home so I'm not gonna bother."

"What if you don't find him? Fuck, there's nothing to say this Chucky doll even exists." The voice was moving, circling her, remaining just out of her range of vision. She squinted, trying to see further, but knew there was no use.

"I know he's real. There's no point saying "what if", because I remember him! And... and.." a thought suddenly struck her, sending shivers through her body and making her skin crawl. "I only said I was looking for Chucky... How did you know I meant the Chucky doll?"

There was a pause, and then the laugh crackled out again, this time from behind her.

"Well, well, well..." A figure stepped into the light. Three foot tall, ginger rayon hair, pink plastic skin gleaming, then plunging into shadow where cuts had been moulded into his face, orange street-light tainting the brightly coloured overalls he wore... Glenda fought the instinct to recoil as the creature dubbed an "abomination" stepped forward and spoke. "Aren't you a clever little kid... Glenda... Long time no see."

"I..." Glenda couldn't think straight. She'd been so intent on finding him; she had no idea what to do now. "Are... you are my dad, aren't you?"

"Well... biologically." Chucky shrugged, examining her. "But I don't play happy families, kid. Run off back to your mother. If I know Tiff, she's gonna be going crazy right now."

"Tiff?" Glenda repeated, confused. "No, my mother's Jennifer. Jennifer Tilly."

Chucky paused for a moment, watching her carefully, before suddenly nodding.

"Right, right... "Jennifer"... Uh, how is she, anyway?"

"She's a fucking cow."

"Yeah, you mentioned. Aside from that?"

"She's got some new guy. She's all love-struck and whiny."

"No shit." Chucky rubbed his chin, and looked into the distance. "She ever tell you much about me?"

"Nope. She said you and her met on set of one of her films and she thought you were in love, but then you left when you found out she was pregnant."

"What?" Chucky started, turning angry. "That's bullshit!"

"And she didn't actually say it was you. She just told us our dad was some guy."

"Oh, that's... that's just fucking rude!" Chucky recoiled, face twisted in rage. "She didn't tell you nothing about me?"

"No... That's why I came to find you! I don't want anything to do with her or Glen or Neil or any of them. I wanna be with you."

"Ha..." Chucky coughed, laughing, and looking up at her incredulously. "You are kidding, right? Fuck that, kid, I'm not fit to be a father. Besides, you're, what, ten years old? You're too old to be playin' with dolls, right?"

"I'm... I'm nine..." Glenda protested, not sure how to react to such a harsh tone. He only snorted, rolled his eyes, and began to walk away, crossing the street.

"Nice meeting ya, kid. See ya."

"But... But I hate them!" She stumbled to her feet, following him. "I hate them, and I want to hurt them! And you can help me! Help me kill them... dad?" He froze. She'd hit a nerve, and grinned savagely, picking up on it. "Think about it. I can't remember much, but I know I heard you saying... you wanted Glen to join the family business. Glen's crap! He couldn't even kill next door's cat! I'm way better, and I want to spend time with you! I..."

"SHUT UP!" Chucky turned slowly, his tiny form tensed, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Now kid, I'm askin' you to leave, but you just ain't gettin' it. I'm not a fit father figure. My dad wasn't, his dad wasn't, I sure as hell ain't. You'd be better not wasting your time. Now go on, get home."

"But..."

"I said leave it, kid!"

"But..."

"I said, FUCK OFF!"

Chucky's roar of a voice startled Glenda so much as it sliced through the quiet night, causing her to trip over her on feet and stumble backwards. She was so shocked that she didn't see or hear the car that was driving up behind her, until the headlights flooded her face...

The last twenty three hours of Mark Krickden's life had been unusual to say the least. He had woken at four in the morning, gasping for air after suffering a particularly bad dream, and found himself unable to get to sleep. He had occupied himself for two hours, making the kids' lunches and performing a few other helpful tasks around the house, before eventually driving off to work at seven. His job, IT maintenance at a legal firm, meant he had good days and bad days, and quite often the odd request, but today he had spent the entire day trying to restore the CEO's documents from a Trojan virus, without deleting the carefully encoded files of various bizarre pornography. He was not technically allowed to tell anyone about the files he'd found on his bosses computer, but he would never look at clowns the same way again, that was for damned sure. He'd then finally gotten home at half five, only to be told that he needed to go to the old folks' home on the other side of town. Apparently, his slightly senile aunt Maude had a birthday present for his daughter Elise, and he needed to bring it over. So Mark got back in the car and drove over to see Maude, but was trapped in an endless conversation, in which he was referred to as his father, his brother, her husband and, worryingly, his son. After a few hours, he had managed to get out of the conversation and retrieve the present, only to find his car had been clamped.

It was now one in the morning, and he was driving home a good $75 poorer, and with a creepy-as-all-hell Victorian doll staring out of a cardboard box in the passenger seat next to him. He glanced over at the thing, and shuddered. It wasn't an ugly doll... in fact it looked quite pretty, with auburn ringlets and rosy cheeks, with blue-green eyes. But something about the way it was smiling really creeped him out. His phone went off in his pocket, making him jump. He fumbled as he took it out of his pocket, dropping the ringing phone to the floor. Growling, he reached down and picked it up, looking up just in time to see the small, slim figure of a girl jump backwards in front of him. In blind panic, as the light bounced back off of her china white skin, he wrenched the wheel to the left, but too late. The car ran straight over her before it managed to curve, before accelerating straight into a brick wall. The front of the car crumpled in on itself, and Mark Krickden got a face full of glass, and his daughter's birthday present fell out of the crumpled passenger door.

On the sidewalk, Chucky stood frozen in shock. After a moment, he blinked, and looked from his daughter's bloodied, crumpled corpse, to the smouldering car wreck. He felt he should say something.

"Huh." He managed, before beginning to walk away. That was when the doll caught his eye. Hesitating, he looked back at Glenda.

"No!" he snapped to himself, shaking his head. "You're too old for this shit. You can't look after a kid and any potential bodies... it wouldn't work." His expression softened as the blood began to pool around her, creeping from her skull. "But... she's my daughter..." He paused.

"Ugh, what the fuck is wrong with me? Partners never bring you any luck, Chucky. Eddie and Tiff both screwed you over. No point. Just stick by yourself. Fuck the world, fuck tradition. Yeah, fuck 'em. I'm Charles Lee Ray, dammit!"

Before he knew it, he was dragging the auburn haired doll over to his daughter's shaking form. There was still just enough life in her to perform a soul transfer.

"Sometimes..." he grunted, kneeling down between the two bodies and stretching out his arms, "I'm too sentimental for my own good." He looked up into the inky sky, and cleared his throat. "Let's see if I can remember this shit... _"Ade, due, demballa"_..."


	3. Chapter 3

Glenda's eyelids were heavy, and her body felt... constricted... tight. She managed to open her eyes, trying to search through her memories for the exact reason she was lying on the ground, in the middle of the night, outside. She felt something nudge her ribs, and managed to focus her vision long enough to make out a short pair of legs, presumably leading up to someone standing over her.

"Wake up." A voice growled. Chucky's voice; her dad's voice. Memories started returning to her, of the argument, the discovery in the attic, the journey around town... she had found her father, and had been arguing... then there was the car... she looked down at her hands, and gasped, before hurriedly stifling a scream, as the orange streetlight shone on her skin. Well, it wasn't her skin, not really... her body had been replaced by a two foot tall, pink, shiny plastic facsimile. She waggled her fingers, initial shock giving way to a morbid fascination. She sat up, feeling her plastic joints creak as they were spurred into movement. She gazed around the empty night, the fuzzy halogen lamp-light and the smouldering metal of the car wreck the only light, which played across her plastic cheeks, and glinted on her red, rayon hair. She looked up at her father.

"Welcome to the family, kiddo." A sick, twisted smile stretched across his gnarled face. "And don't say I never did nothing for you."

"D...daddy?" She gasped, struggling to stand with her new body. "Are... is this... are you..."

"Spit it out." He sighed, pulling her to her feet.

"The car hit me." Glenda gasped, her breath shaky as she became more aware of her body, and the weird feeling of having an entirely new, entirely less corporeal physical form. "Why aren't I dead?"

"Because I saved your ass, you worthless punk. And against my better judgement, I might add... don't rush to thank me or nothing." There was a malicious glint in his eye, akin to fluorescent light on cold steel, which matched his barbed snarl of a voice perfectly. She was awestruck.

"Does this mean I can live with you?"

"Well you sure as shit can't go back home." He chuckled, turning and beginning to walk away. "And don't call me "daddy". You're too old for that."

"What did you call your dad?" She asked, but he was already pacing away from her, without so much as a backwards glance. Glenda stumbled after him, still finding it odd to move about in her new form. She found it hard to keep her balance, and tripped up the kerb after her father.

"Eep!" She yelped, causing Chucky to turn around, but make no effort to catch her. He looked down at her for a moment, before nudging her with his shoe.

"Yeah... it'll take you a while to get your knees used to bending. Don't try doing anything like squat-thrusts or running or anything for a while..." He nudged her again. "Get up. I ain't waiting around." Glenda clambered back to her feet, still grinning. She was just happy to finally be with her dad. She couldn't explain it, but she had a feeling that her life would make a lot more sense now she was with him. She already liked him more than she liked her stuck up, boring cow of a mother.

"I need to go back to the house."

"Uh, no. Rule number one, you listen to what I say, and you do it. No questions."

"But..."

"I don't care how many goodbyes you want to say to your family, you can't see them ever again."

"But..."

"Never. Again. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, yeah." She pouted, irritated at not being listened to. "I get it. I don't give a shit about them anyway..." She was grumbling now, glaring at the floor. Chucky barely concealed a sneer; her petulant putting face suddenly reminding him of Tiffany, and causing him to reconsider his previous generosity to the girl. She may have been his daughter, but he wasn't sure he liked her much.

"So why are you so determined to go back, then?"

"I need to go back..." She looked up at him, a defiant, determined sparkle in her eye which knocked him off-guard a little bit. "To get some stuff I hid under the house."

"What? What kind of stuff?"

"I knew I was going to run away sooner or later, so I hid some stuff in a cubby hole around the back of the house. I didn't think to get it when I left earlier."

Chucky looked at her, incredulous. There was no trace of fear in her eyes. No thought at all. The honesty was almost... unnerving. After a while, he sighed.

"Fine. But we can't be seen, and we need to find some place to hide away as soon as possible. Ok?"

"Sure! Thanks, dad!" She smiled, before carefully stumbling down the street, her arms out to her sides as she tried to balance. Chucky rolled his eyes, and caught up to her quickly. He had a feeling he'd let himself in for a whole world of trouble.

Chucky and Glenda lay, side by side, on their stomachs. They stood underneath the rhododendron bushes. The house was dark, it now being gone three in the morning, and the entire street seemed to stand with baited breath.

"So where's your stuff then?"

"Just behind the back door steps."

"It doesn't look like anyone's moving around... go on then, hurry. And stay low."

Glenda nodded, grinning at the idea of starting a wild new life with her father, and wanting to prove she could follow his instructions. She darted across to the back door steps, and had just kicked away the panel that covered the little cubby under the house, when the kitchen light snapped on.

"Ah, crap... stay there!" Chucky hissed, forcing himself lower to the ground. What was Tiff doing up at three in the morning anyway? Or, he thought, as the back door swung open and a blonde haired guy in a dressing gown stepped out and lit a cigarette, a better question would be "what was Tiff doing at three in the morning". From the thin layer of sweat that shone on this guy's forehead, and the way his hair was messed and sticking up at odd angles, he felt he had a good idea.

"That two faced bitch!" Chucky hissed. "`I'll only ever sleep with someone I love`." He mimicked, glaring up at the well-groomed, if dishevelled suitor. So this was the "Neil" Glenda had mentioned. What the fuck did Tiff see in him? He looked like a rubberneck executive, or some kind of pretty-boy stock broker. He wondered how Mr Money would react if he found out his new hump-buddy was reincarnated trailer trash. He chuckled to himself, content with imagining all the ways he could fuck with the cheating cow. Not that he loved her, he thought, suddenly feeling himself clench inside. He hated the bitch. He was so over her. But... fuck it. He shook his head, snapping back to focus. He could just see Glenda's eyes peeking over the top of the stairs behind the blonde man. He held a finger to his lips, and she nodded, hiding herself. The guy had no want to go back inside though, as he sat on the steps and gazed up at the stars.

"Jennifer... will you marry me?" He asked, grimacing at the inflection of the question, before clearing his throat and trying again. "Jennifer... I love you. Marry me."

Although neither of the Ray dolls could see each other, they both reacted in exactly the same way. Their eyes both widened in shock, before simultaneously narrowing in anger. His plans were not welcomed be either.

Eventually, he finished his cigarette and threw it to the ground, shaking his head. He retreated into the house. Chucky tensed, listening intently. The kitchen light stayed on, but, after a brief pause, he gave the signal to Glenda. She began to run back to him, carrying a small gingham backpack. She wasn't sure whether it was the weight of the backpack, or her still feeling uneasy on her new legs, or perhaps a combination of the two, but she had barely gone two feet when she stumbled into the trash cans that sat by the back door. The clattering and noise summoned the smoker to fling open the back door. Out of instinct, Glenda froze on the ground, tense with terror. He approached slowly, picked her up, and stared at her. Chucky found himself holding his breath and clenching his fists as he saw this man holding his daughter in the air by her arm. He stayed still and quiet though. He couldn't do anything just now. The man sighed, and turned, walking around to the front of the house.

Neil strode around to the house across the street, a pretty villa with large windows, flowers and bird feeders adorning the balconied front. The Gerrards, who owned the house, were a sweet old couple, into bird watching and collecting various antiques. Their daughter had left for college earlier in the year, and ever since they had been open to pranks and burglaries from neighbourhood punks. Glenda being one of them. Neil wondered how the girl would take the news, once he asked Jennifer... maybe they could send her to Military school? Or a psychiatric unit? He chuckled at his own joke, and knocked on the house's front door. The light was still on in the downstairs main room, much to his surprise, and Mr Gerrard was soon at the door.

"Ah, Neil, good evening."

"Hi. Is this one of yours?" He proffered the doll. Mr Gerrard, a tall man with grey hair and many wrinkles, adjusted his spectacles, and examined the doll.

"No, but she is a pretty one, isn't she? Where did you find her?"

"She was thrown into our back yard, I think. Or dropped."

"Oh, what a shame... well leave her with us, we'll see if anyone is missing one at the collector's guild on Wednesday."

"Brilliant. Sorry to disturb you."

"Not at all. I've just gotten up to see if I can do a bit of nature spotting." He tapped the side of his nose.

"Well good luck." Neil smiled, before shaking his hand. "Good night."

"Good night."

Neither man noticed a small figure creep through the door by their knees as they spoke, and Mr Gerrard certainly didn't notice one more shadow in the alcove underneath the stairs, as he carried the doll up to the collector room.

Where most people would have a study, or office the Gerrards had the Collector Room. This room had been designed specifically to showcase their various collector's items; from wall-mounted plaques and picture frames to Perspex display cases full of bric-a-brac, to bookcases full of rare books, comics and records, and wall brackets displaying china plates and paintings. But above all of them, three foot from the ceiling, ran a shelf, starting by the door, following the corner of the room and ending by a tall, red draped window. The shelf was home to over twenty ornate, vintage dolls, and, as Glenda was carried past them, she had to stifle a gasp. Mr Gerrard placed her by the window, disturbing the dust on the shelf and the thick red curtain. He smiled.

"I'm sure we'll find you a home, soon enough." He turned to leave, but Glenda found herself struggling to remain still. The dust was irritating her nose, and try as she might, she was finding it very hard not to move. Before she could stop herself, a clearly audible sneeze cut through the silent house. Gerrard turned back, and scrutinised her, looking confused. He advanced slowly, adjusting his glasses. "Oh Crap". Glenda thought. "Crap, crap, shit, ass, crap..." She stayed very still, hoping he would think he'd imagined it. He picked her up and examined her more closely, turning her over in his hands. Glenda didn't like his curiosity, not one bit. She looked up at the curtain that hung in front of her, and tried to stifle her movements.

Chucky had been slowly creeping upstairs, after making a quick detour to the knife block in the kitchen, and arrived at the door to the Collector Room just in time to hear Glenda's sneeze, and see Gerrard pick her up. Shit, they were done for. So much for the plan of get in, get out... he was weighing up his options, considering whether leaving the kid here and returning later would help or hinder him, but he was stopped in his tracks, bearing witness to something amazing. Glenda had, while Mr Gerrard was examining her back, managed to delicately reach out and grab the curtain in front of her without his noticing. She then proceeded to whip her head around, and use the curtain to pull herself back up to the shelf as he recoiled and yelled in horror. She then leapt from the shelf, swinging on the curtain, and landed on his shoulders as he tried to run for the door. The man was yelling himself hoarse, tears of horror in his eyes, but Glenda was relentless. Gathering up the curtain, she pulled it tight around his neck, the taught velvet tickling her fingers. He gasped and croaked, casting around in the vain attempt to throw her off, feeling her little feet digging sharply into his shoulders. Glenda, a savage, high pitched giggle dancing from her lips, pulled the curtain tighter, feeling his adam's apple give way beneath the pressure, delighting in his gargled chokes. Mr Gerrard could sense his vision fading, but was preoccupied with the crushing pain as the bones in his neck moved, as his tongue began to swell and loll in his mouth, his lips aching and dry... black spots danced before his eyes as the curtain tightened, causing him to drop to his knees. As he choked and turned purple, eyes rolling in his skull, he made one last, desperate bid to escape, he dragged himself towards the door, but only proceeded in pulling the curtain rail down, which crashed onto his ankle and most likely fractured it, but the numbness was already halfway through his body, his oxygen starved lungs giving up.

Dust swirling around in the dimly lit room, Glenda stood, shakily, looking down at the first person she had ever killed. She wiped spittle from the side of her mouth, and looked over to the door, where Chucky stood, eyebrows raised. He looked her up and down, and slowly, his features began to contort and twist into a smile.

"Hey! That wasn't bad. A bit messy, sure, but that kind of finesse comes with practice... You know, I think..."

"Harold?" Mrs Gerrard entered the room, woken by the noise. It took a moment for her to register the shattered curtain rail, the moving doll and her husband's corpse, but in the time it took her to begin screaming, Chucky had taken the kitchen knife from his overalls and slashed her Achilles tendon, causing the middle-aged woman to instantly crumple, and the pink nightgown she wore to be stained a dark, rusty, blood brown. She lay, rolling and screaming in pain and terror, crying for her husband and herself.

"Would you knock it the hell off?" Chucky snarled, walking calmly to her head and standing on her neck. "We were in the middle of a father-daughter bonding moment! Do you know..." he reached down, pressing the knife to her neck as she stared up, tears streaming down her face as she pleaded and prayed to God, "how important..." he sliced into her throat, blood spurting and pooling around them both, as she choked, gurgled and fell silent, "that is to a kid's development? I mean, goddamn it..."

Chucky looked up at Glenda, and gave an apologetic shrug. "Sorry kid... the moment's kind of gone now... You alright?" Glenda hadn't moved, or even flinched. She was watching him with blank, empty eyes.

"I've never killed a person before..."

"Ah..." Chucky sheathed the knife once more. "Feeling kinda shaky, huh?"

"Yeah..." Glenda sat on the floor, blood staining her white petticoat.

"That's called "adrenaline", kid. And it's the best thing you'll ever get hooked on." Chucky grinned, looking down at the two dead bodies. "Well... now we got the house to ourselves, why don't you find a place to get some sleep while I work on the plan?"

"The plan?" Glenda looked up at her father, who seemed now even stronger, more powerful and forbidding than ever before.

"Yeah. Your mother is about to get a new husband, and all built on a pack of lies. That bitch isn't gonna forget me so easily... We're going to have a little... family reunion."


	4. Chapter 4

Woo, crazy update schedule! I'm all over the place, so if you like the story, best set up an email aletr for it! Also, I hope everyone likes this story, and I'm always open to comments and criticism. :)

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The lights were out. Two plastic figures sat by the large window of the main room, hiding behind the net curtain; one watching the night begin to recede away from the suburb through a pair of binoculars, the other lying on the floor beside him, wrapped in a blanket, and watching him carefully.

"Go to sleep." Chucky sighed, not looking away from the binoculars.

"Can't." Glenda replied, rolling onto her back. "Doctor said I have Issomnia."

"You mean "IN-somnia", stupid." Chucky shot her a despairing glance, before going back to his binoculars. You won't be any good for the plan if you're all tired and whiny. How do you normally get to sleep?"

"Read a story." She replied. "But all the books here are boring." There was a moment's pause, while she sat up and looked at her father. "Could you tell me one?"

Chucky looked at her as though she had just asked him to dance the can-can. His face flashed from incredulity to disgust, before settling on mild annoyance, verging on suppressed anger.

"No." He lifted the binoculars once more.

"Please?"

"No."

"But I asked nicely."  
"Well in that case... still fucking no."

Glenda sighed, and lay back, staring at the ceiling.

"How are the binoculars?"

"Good. Couldn't have picked a better house for domestic surveillance... sad fuckers, though, this kinda shit shouldn't be wasted on bird watching."

Glenda fell silent again, desperately wanting to sleep, but also wanting to find out as much about her father as possible. She tried a different approach. Pulling the blanket tighter around her, she closed her eyes.

"So how did you really meet mom?"

"What?" Chucky snapped, irritably. For some reason, he was finding it very hard to plan out this particular attack. He had, he was the first to admit, lost some of the spontaneity he had in his youth, and now preferred to plan his attacks, partly to cut the hassle of being discovered, and partly because he was fed up of the people he killed not being as dead as he'd thought. That had been an awkward trip to the morgue...

"Well, you said mom's story about how she met you was bullshit. So how did it really happen?"

He looked at her for a moment, wondering how much she could actually remember about her life before Tiffany took Jennifer Tilly's body. It seemed to be very little; what memories she had seemed to lack context or conclusion. Eventually, he sat back a little, and went back to his binoculars.

"Alright. She wasn't "Jennifer", back then. She was Tiffany. She lived in a trailer park in New Jersey with her mother. Well, I lived in the same trailer park for a while, and we just ended up hooking up, y'know? 'Course, she was Eddie's girl first." He chuckled, dropping the binoculars for a moment, looking off into the distance.

"Eddie?" Glenda looked up at him, stifling a yawn.

"Eddie Caputo. He was... a business partner, of sorts. We did a couple of jobs together, mostly just small time stuff. Knocking over convenience stores and shit. But Then we started getting greedier, and eventually we ended up killing some people. Tiff left Eddie, 'cos she felt he wasn't man enough. We were together for... about four, five years? Then there was the night it all went to shit. I went to do a job, but it went wrong, and Eddie abandoned me... ended up getting fucking shot, and had to force my soul into that fucking doll... anyway, about ten years later, she finds me, and starts going on about how she wants to settle down. So we got married."

"But... how come she's Jennifer Tilly now?" Glenda managed, between yawns.

"She... killed the real Jennifer Tilly after you were born and took her place." Chucky said, simply, looking down at Glenda, who was close to falling asleep. No point getting into too much detail and risk giving the kid a mental breakdown... not yet, anyway. "She doesn't want anyone to know she used to be Tiffany Ray, the trailer trash who killed like she cooked... inventively, but not always successfully."

He laughed at his own joke, looking down to see that Glenda had already fallen asleep. Sighing, he watched her for a moment, unsure what to do. He realised quite suddenly that she'd managed to make him tell her a bed time story, which he instantly resented and felt ashamed of, but somehow he didn't mind the actual telling that much. He hesitated, and eventually, settled for patting her ankle and walking to the kitchen to make some coffee. He was pretty sure he had the start of a plan figured out. If only parenting were as easy as murder.

"Glenda." Jennifer hammered on her daughter's bedroom door. "Glenda, you gotta get up and go to school! Glenda!" There was no response, which was not unusual. Jennifer sighed and counted to ten, before hammering again, louder. "Glenda! Get your ass out of bed this instant or I swear to God I will drag you out by your hair!" Threat delivered, Jennifer went off to make breakfast. After ten minutes, while Glen was standing at the door ready to go, Glenda had still not emerged. Jennifer was barely managing to contain her rage at this point in time, tired and irritable, she stormed up the stairs and burst into her daughter's room, only to find it empty, and looking as though it had been unoccupied for some time. For a moment, she stood in shock. Then, she swept up the stairs to the attic. "Glenda?" The anger in her voice had been replaced with panic, bordering on blind fear. "Glenda!" She burst into the attic, and saw the broken boxes and shattered debris, but not a sign of her daughter.

There had often been threats, there had been attempts, there had even been a legitimate scare once, where Glenda had left a note saying she would do it, but actually just hid in the back yard, but never had Jennifer actually expected her daughter to run away. She gripped the doorframe tight, tears choking in her throat, her legs weak, she sank to the floor. She could feel her heart being torn in two. Glenda... gone. Missing. Run away. And it must have been her fault. It's always the mother's fault, isn't it? She felt the sobs resonate through her body, her shoulders shaking, chest heaving, as she let the shock wash over her. Glen slowly peeked his head around the banister, and, not knowing what to say, hugged his mother tight.

"It's... it'll be ok, mummy."

"She's gone, Glen!" Jennifer sobbed. "What... what are we going to do?"

"Wait, mum. She can look after herself. She may even come back."

"You're right." She closed her eyes, resting against Glen, wrapping her arms around him. "But we can't tell anyone she's gone." There was a sudden steeliness to her voice which Glen found unnerving, but he nodded.

"No one..."

"Because they'll start asking questions. Poor Glenda... she doesn't remember your father, does she?"

"I don't think so..." Glen felt dirty and ashamed, talking about Glenda behind her back, but there was nothing else to be done. Glenda was a dangerous girl, especially since she didn't fully understand who she was or where she came from. He had never been so glad for his own body as when he thought back to sharing a body with Glenda. He looked up at his mother, whose watery eyes were already setting in resolve. "What do we tell the school?"

"We tell them... we tell them she's ill. Not in a fit state to leave the house." She dabbed the tears from her cheeks. She couldn't afford to break down now. "I'll think of something, sweetie, don't worry. Let's just get in the car, and pretend nothing ever happened."

"Oh... okay, mummy."

As they left the house and got solemnly into the silver 4x4 cruiser, Jennifer's cheeks still wet, neither mother nor son realised they were being watched. From across the street, Chucky leered over the top of his coffee cup, the steaming liquid curling into the net curtains, and twisting around his mangled smile. He glanced down at the sleeping Glenda, and nudged her awake with his foot.

"Hey kid. I got an idea. Wake up." He nudged harder "Wake up. You gotta tell me everything you know about your mother's daily routine."

Glenda blinked up at him, eyes heavy with sleep. "Like what?"

"What she does, where she goes, when she's at home. As much as possible."

"Why?"

"Because I got an idea, but I need you to help me with it."

Glenda sat bolt upright, her eyes sparkling.

"I get to help? Really?" She grinned enthusiastically, and Chucky couldn't help but chuckle a little.

"That's right, kid, you get to help."

"Yay! I'll go get some paper and a pen!" She staggered to her feet and wandered off, excitement overriding the balance problems she was still having. Chucky watched her leave, scratching his chin. He'd spent so long around hardened killers, drug users and felons, that it had been a while since he'd seen that much excitement about any kind of job. Maybe that was what he'd been missing, lately? It had certainly felt more like a duty, even a chore, than something he really wanted to do. Sure, he still felt a sense of pride in his work, but... maybe just methodically slicing arteries had dulled him? Here was his kid, who had so much to learn, and was asking him to teach her... He shook his head. He was getting emotional. Fuck, he was getting old... screw it, he resolved. If she wanted to learn, then he'd teach. That was a straight-forward enough arrangement. She was a partner, an apprentice. Nothing more.

Glenda staggered back into the room, holding some paper and pens, and began writing a list. Chucky sighed, and snatched the paper from her. Boy, did she have a lot to learn. She looked up at him with startled, apprehensive eyes.

"Rule one, you never write anything down." Chucky glared at her, balling up the paper and throwing it aside. If you write shit down, people find it, and then it becomes something called "evidence". Do you know what evidence is?"

"They use it to catch criminals. Like finger prints and DNA and stuff."

"Right, which we'll also need to be careful of."

"How come?" Glenda tilted her head to the side, brow furrowed. "We're dolls. Dolls don't have finger prints."

"Wrong. We're _possessed_ dolls. The longer our souls stay in these bodies, the more human the bodies become. Including adapting to our fingerprints and DNA."

"Really?" Glenda gasped, amazed by this new information. "Why?"

"Because that's how the spell works."

"But... why?"

"I... because it does, alright?"

"But _why?"_

"I don't fucking KNOW, ALRIGHT?" Chucky yelled, glaring at her. Glenda fell dutifully silent, which was an uncommon occurrence. She couldn't give two shits when her mother yelled at her, or her teachers or Liza, their maid, but she had reason to believe that her father had the inclination to back up any and every threat. Plus, Glenda thought, tucking her hands behind her back and trying to look small, if she did piss him off, she wouldn't be able to help with the plan.

"Sorry."

"Good." Chucky recovered himself, trying to remember what his point was. "You're in a new body, so you should be ok for about a week, and even if you do start adapting, police could still reason away your fingerprints and DNA being in your own house. Me, on the other hand... When does your mother get home?"

"Not until five o clock. Until then, the house is all looked after by Liza."

"And Glen?"

"Usually about five, too. He has after school clubs." Glenda sneered. Chucky looked up at the big clock on the wall, smiling.

"Perfect. We'll have plenty of time to make it all look right. But before we start anything, I'm gonna need a new body. Come on, kid, you're gonna want to see this."

Intrigued and excited, Glenda followed her father into one of the main shopping centres of the area. It being broad daylight, they had to be very careful, sticking to shadows and shady alleys, often crawling through gutters and freezing at any signs of people seeing. It took them an hour, but eventually they reached an avenue given over entirely to alternative culture nightclubs, bars and shops, from goth couture and erotica to comic shops and memorabilia collector dens. Chucky motioned for them to walk around the back of the shops, and for Glenda to keep quiet. There were many doors, each with the name of the shop they corresponded to, written modestly above the door and garage. This was where deliveries came and went, so as to not block the shop entrances to the buying public. They stopped by the door for a shop called "CULT CUTTERS", and Chucky motioned for Glenda to come closer.

"This is the dream deal. The shop's all about horror movie memorabilia and urban legends, and it's run by a bunch of stoners who never lock the door." He kicked the white plywood door, and it swung open easily. "See? Now, all you have to do is stay here and keep a look out. Hold our hand up if you see someone coming, ok?"

"Okay..."

"You ever broken in and stolen anything before?"

"Nothing big..."

"Then watch your old man work, and see if you can pick up any tips." He grinned, before carefully entering the shop. There was no one around, except for one guy, slumped over the counter, most likely stoned out of his brain, which suited Chucky fine. He climbed the three shelves that ran the wall like a ladder, before pulling himself up onto the top shelf and shooting a glance back over his shoulder, to make sure Glenda was watching. He crept carefully behind the boxes and packages on display on the top shelf, mostly figurines and set or prop replicas from horror movies, until he reached a row of boxes in the middle of the shelf. The boxes were bright yellow, and adorned with blood red cartoon hammers, saws, baseball caps and hot air balloons. On the top, was a swirling red logo reading "Good Guy". Checking the stoner was still comatose, he swivelled the box around, and revealed a duplicate of himself staring blankly through the plastic. It was wearing the same clothes, only cleaner, and had the same scars moulded into the plastic. Around the bottom of the box window, the words "Evil "Chucky" Doll replica" were written in three languages. Chucky merely grinned, tipped the box onto its' side, and slid it back to the end of the shelf.

"Glenda!" He whispered, looking around. "No one's in the shop. Come in and catch the box for me!"

Slowly, cautiously, Glenda tip-toed into the shop, looking around in wonder. She tried hard to control herself, but deep down, she wanted everything in the shop.

"Glenda! Heads up!" Glenda looked up, just in time to catch the box and fall over, the weight too much for her. Chucky and Glenda both froze, as the loud thump caused the stoner to move. After a long, tense pause, Chucky decided the stoner wasn't going to move, and began climbing back down to the floor. He took the box from Glenda, who had staggered back to her feet, and gave her a withering look. "You're supposed to move with an item when you catch it. Hug it into your body. Didn't no one ever tell you that? Now come on." Chucky motioned, before Glenda could say anything, and left the shop. Glenda followed quickly, stopping only to take an evil, dead-eyed looking teddy bear from a nearby shelf. According to the tag in his ear, he was known as "UnDeadTed", and was coated in short black fur, had painted red fangs and large red eyes. Glenda liked him.

Chucky was outside, and had already taken the doll from its' box when Glenda got to him, clutching the bear. He looked around at her, acknowledged her presence, and then had to double take as he saw the bear.

"What the fuck's that thing?"

"Can I keep it? Please?"

"Fine. Whatever. Just... don't put it too near me. Christ, it's uglier than your fucking brother..." Glenda grinned, partly because she was allowed to keep the bear, but mostly because her father seemed to share her dislike of Glen. She hoped he liked her more than Glen. Chucky had knelt down beside the other Chucky doll, and was speaking quietly.

"You're gonna have to be quiet now. Sit over there and don't move. You're about to be let in on an industry secret."

"Really?" Glenda was excited again.

"Yeah. You're going to see how I've managed to survive this long... I swear, that "Chucky goes psycho" crap was the best thing that ever happened to me. The film was abandoned; rumours spread about my involvement... dolls that looked like me started popping up everywhere... fucking played into my hands." He laughed, putting a hand on the doll's forehead. "Watch closely, kid."

Glenda obediently sat against the shop wall, and watched, as her father cleared his throat.

"Ade, Due, demballa, give me the power I beg of you..."

Thunderclouds began to gather overhead, ominous and black, grumbling underneath Chucky's fearsome voice. "Secoise entienne ma pois de morte..."

As Chucky continued to recite, face set in concentration, the wind whipped up around him, causing Glenda to shiver. She found herself genuinely terrified, as the howling wind and crashing thunder echoed and resounded with his fearsome voice... Then, as suddenly as it had started, the clouds fled, and the wind died. Chucky was left, quiet and still, in the middle of the driveway. Glenda cautiously approached, worried by his lack of movement.

"D... dad? Are you... okay?" She touched his shoulder, and the lifeless body fell over, making Glenda jump back and scream. The other Chucky doll sat up slowly, holding his head.

"Oh god, don't scream..." He hissed, narrowing his eyes at her. "I swear to god, every time swap, it gets worse..." He coughed violently, before spitting and standing up. "Like the worst fucking hangover... alright, let's get back to the house."

"Are you alright?" Glenda looked at him, concerned.

"I'm fine. Just get your fugly bear thing and let's go."

"He's called UnDeadTed."

"_He_", Chucky glared at her, mocking, "Is an inanimate fucking object. Believe me; I know a thing or two about animate and inanimate."

Glenda looked down at her feet, glared up at him with defiant eyes, and silently grabbed her bear, before leading the way home. Chucky sighed, and rolled his eyes. Great. Now she was pissed off.

"Alright." He groaned, following her. "If you don't ask stupid questions and shut up when I tell you to, I'll let you do the job tonight, ok?"

"Yay!" Glenda suddenly smiled, instantly becoming warmer and more welcoming. Chucky shook his head. The girl as messed up... but then, he reasoned, so was her mother. Maybe it was just a female thing.


	5. Chapter 5

The raven-haired beauty bounced down the corridor, clinging on to the arm of an intensely scowling, chiselled man.

"Leave me, Cassandra." He growled, ice blue eyes staring down at her. Her brilliant green eyes gazed back.

"But Daniel!" She gasped, in a manner that made her eyes sparkle and breast heave even more. "You can't go after him! It's suicide!"

"And what do you care?" His voice was little louder than a whisper, but the menacing growl of a man who had imbibed much poison over the years still made Cassandra quake.

"Because I... I..." She mumbled back, her voice almost as husky as his. "I... um... oh, shoot, line?"

"Cut!"

For the third time that morning, the director called a halt to filming on "If you never Knew", the next lacklustre romance-thriller-action to come from Hollywood. The crew sighed and switched to standby, as the brilliant light that had been so defining the two made-up faces cut out, and they instantly lost some of their shine and beauty. Jennifer stood, looking over at the actor playing Daniel, who had a face like black thunder.

"Sorry." She sniffed, dabbing her eyes. "Sorry." She repeated to the weary director and the rest of the crew.

"Jen, can I see you over here for a moment?"

Jennifer flashed another nervy, apologetic smile around at everyone, and walked over to the Director, feeling very small.

"Jen..." He was a rather chubby man, with cropped, brown-grey hair, and a tendency to wear plaid shirts and baseball caps. He looked every part the stereotypical director, but he wasn't an unkind man. He was simply professional. "You told me when you came on set this morning that you were undergoing domestic difficulties. You assured me that it wouldn't be an issue."

"I know, I just..."

"Now, it doesn't take much to see that it's affecting your work, and, frankly, I don't know if I want you giving me a sub-par performance."

"But..."

"Look, do you feel you need to go home?"

"I don't know..." She genuinely didn't. Since discovering her daughter's absence, she had become almost numb. She could understand everything that was going on around her, but, somehow, she couldn't link it to anything that would impact on her life. She was lonely, and confused. The director's face softened, clearly reading some of this in her eyes.

"Take five, everyone. Jennifer, you have a five minute break to decide whether you can carry on today or not."

Jennifer smiled at him gratefully, before grabbing her handbag and walking outside the soundstage. She sat on a bench, and fumbled in her bag for her cigarettes, her hands shaking as she lit up. She took a drag on the cigarette, instantly feeling the bittersweet, smoky tang fill her lungs and calm her nerves. The dull, empty feeling in her stomach, however, remained. She stared into space, absently drawing on her cigarette, debating whether she actually had the focus and energy to finish up today's shoot. As her mind slipped from one subject to another, a tinny ringtone blared from the depths of her handbag. She retrieved the phone, barely noting the "number withheld" screen, and answered, not entirely listening for a response.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Glenda!" Jennifer shot upright, taking a desperate, long puff on her cigarette, before throwing it aside and standing. "Glenda, where are you? Are you alright? What happened?"

"Mom, shut up. I'm fine." Jennifer had never been so happy to hear her daughter's petulant, snide tone. "I'm at a friend's house."

"You had me worried sick! What's going on? When are you coming home?"

"I'm not coming home, mother." Glenda's words struck her mother dumb for a moment, before sparking a mixture of relief and anger inside her, filling the void she'd felt previously with white hot emotion, flashing around her body like a long line of gunpowder.

"Oh yes you are, and we are going to have a serious talk, young lady."

"No." Glenda sounded completely calm, which was rare. She was breathing slowly. "I'm not coming home until Liza and Neil are both gone."  
"What? What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. Liza's done nothing but tell lies about me and cause trouble."  
"Oh, Glenda." Jennifer snapped, irritated. She began fumbling in her bag for another cigarette, pressing the phone between her shoulder and her ear. "Not this again... Liza has not told lies about you."

"She has, and you've never, ever believed me!" Glenda's angry voice flared briefly, before she forced her voice back to a calm whisper. "I'm not coming back until she's gone."

"I'm not going to fire Liza because you have a petty grudge. You're going to have to realise Glenda, you can't always get your way."

"Fine." Glenda sighed. "I'm just going to keep moving out then."

"Keep moving..." Jennifer heard the words with a slow sense of worry. "Where are you right now, Glenda?" Glenda didn't respond. There was just low breathing, and a quiet, high-pitched giggle. "Glenda! Where. Are. You?"

The pause continued, until eventually, the high, lilting voice returned.

"Pasadena."

Jennifer exploded.

"HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET TO PASADENA ON YOUR OWN?" The screech attracted the attention of several people wandering around, but Jennifer didn't care. Her eyes were flashing dangerously, and her voice dropped to a deathly murmur. "You're nine years old, Glenda. I swear, if you've done anything stupid, or gotten yourself hurt..."

"I'm better than ever, mom." Glenda sighed, sounding as though she was already bored of the conversation. "I'm just not comfortable around Liza. So until she goes, I'm not coming back."

The line went dead. Jennifer stared at the phone in impotent fury, before taking a deep breath, a long draw on her cigarette, and returning to the soundstage. Glenda was alive, and seemingly well. She was certainly as much a brat as ever. Jennifer threw her bag down in a corner of the room, and hollered for hair and makeup. She gave the director a long, level look.

"I'm fine now. Let's get acting."

It was three thirteen in the afternoon, and the heating in the Tilly household was on full blast. Liza, the maid, found some sick, guilty pleasure in wasting as much gas, electricity and water as possible, and feigning ignorance if ever questioned about the bill. Glenda was not entirely lying about Liza's tendency to blame her; the maid was smart enough to know she couldn't fob off the blame for everything, but if something was found broken, or lost, or a bill came in too high, she would suggest Glenda may have had something to do with it. This had never sat well with the petulant, flame-haired youth, and it was with great solemnity that she now sat outside the house, staring into the window, waiting for her moment. Chucky sat next to her, considerably more relaxed.

"Relax, kid. We gotta wait for them to bite. It's all about concentration."

Glenda said nothing. She continued to glare at Liza, fumbling absent-mindedly with a folded piece of note paper. Chucky glanced over at her, and frowned. Was it possible she was getting cold feet about the whole thing? The man Glenda had killed last night was apparently her first, and that was an accident; it wasn't pre-meditated. Not like this one. Chucky cleared his throat.

"Are you sure you're going to be ok with this? I mean, you got the energy, but if you don't think you can follow through, then now is the time to say so. If you get up there, and then freeze up, the whole plan is over before it even started."

"I know." Glenda spoke clearly, but quietly.

"So are you doing it or not?"

"I'll do it."

Chucky looked over at her. She hadn't taken her eyes away from the window. She was watching Liza's every move around the living room, glaring at her as she stoked the coals on the open fire. He cleared his throat again, trying a different approach.

"So how you holdin' up? After your... first kill, and all?"

Glenda simply nodded. Chucky nodded back.

"Good... good... I gotta say, I'm surprised you went for strangulation... takes a lot more commitment than the other options, especially for a first timer..." He chuckled, but found himself trailing off as Glenda turned her large blue eyes to him.

"That wasn't the first time I strangled someone."

"What?"

"It was the first time I killed someone. Not the first time I strangled someone."

Chucky raised his eyebrows, unsure whether to press the topic or not. He was intrigued, but Glenda was volatile, and could snap into any one of a number of moods if provoked. He settled for sitting back, and picking his teeth.

"I had a similar thing. First time I strangled someone wasn't 'til about my fourth actual kill. But then... it seemed the right style for me, you know? Kinda stuck with it after that."

"It was Glen." She spoke in a simple, matter of fact way. He'd never seen her so calm... it wasn't nervousness at all, although you could be forgiven for thinking it. It was almost a meditative stillness she'd adopted, staring into the window. "We were five or six, and I don't know what we were arguing about, but he really pissed me off. So I knocked him to the floor and pulled one of my socks around his neck. His face almost turned blue. He probably would have died if Mom hadn't pulled me off him." She fell silent again, as bluntly as she had started speaking. Chucky was slightly taken aback, but merely nodded, and looked back through the window. So she was a savage, psychopathic brat after all.

"Come on." He said, standing. "She's fallen asleep."

They had a little under an hour and three quarters to do the deed, and, as they crept in through the unlocked back door, Chucky felt like this was all the time in the world. The maid was asleep. Glenda had the faked note, now all they had to do was get a knife from the kitchen and make it look like suicide. Chucky found the whole "secretive" aspect of the plan somewhat irritating; if it had been anyone else, he could have killed whoever he wanted, in whatever way he liked, and still not have been a suspect. But he knew he couldn't let Glen or... his mother (whichever name she went by now) get the slightest whiff of his involvement. He looked around at the palatial villa, fingers suddenly itching with greed. He hadn't felt anything like this in a long time. He'd gotten lazy, relying on the ultimate disguise. But now he was working on a level playing ground, and he felt the challenge both annoying and exhilarating.

"Dad!" Glenda hissed. Chucky's head snapped around to glare at her. She was holding the note out, looking suitably apologetic. "I can't reach the table."

"Oh for crying out... give it here. Go find a knife or something."

Nodding, Glenda wandered through to the kitchen while Chucky headed for the hall table. He had to give the kid credit, she could certainly fake handwriting... they could probably go into a little credit fraud, if needs be... he shook his head. There was no guarantee either of them would survive this, let alone still want to be around each other by the end. He reached up and placed the note flat on the hall table, just as a tremendous crash echoed through from the kitchen...


	6. Chapter 6

Liza sat bolt upright, snapping awake as the crash echoed through from the kitchen. She looked around in a slight panic, before running into the kitchen. Several knives and lay on the floor, amid shards of splintered plate. She cast around, looking for what would have caused the noise, still confused from the rude awakening.

The counter above the mess was stacked high with clean dishes that had yet to be put away, and above that stood an open window, the roller blind waving erratically as it thrashed in the wind. Liza sighed. OK. Open window plus wind plus blind plus pile of dishes equals crash. That much made sense to her. She sighed, hitching up her skirt and dropping to her knees as she picked up the shards of plate. She hated the grey housecoat uniform, but then, at least she wasn't getting any of her clothes dirty. She pushed back a strand of grey-black hair, and muttered a curse to herself. After picking up all the bits of broken crockery, she sat back. She had that horrible feeling, the sensation of being watched. With a brief glance around the empty kitchen, she shook it off, although the discomfort stayed with her. She put the broken plate in the bin, and bent to pick up the knife on the floor. Knife... she could have sworn there were two or three, last time... the fire hissed and crackled in the front room, and she turned slowly, checking the kitchen properly now. Nothing. Of course there was nothing out of place. Just the same terracotta kitchen she had cleaned every day for the past few years. She let out a breath, and closed the window, shaking her head. Miss Tilly's stories about Glenda disappearing must have put her on edge. She walked back through to the front room, and recoiled, putting her hands to her face...

The fire had almost burnt out. Grabbing the stoker from beside the fireplace, she knelt down and provoked the fire, until it was back to full strength. Her mother had always told her that bad luck befalls a cold house. That's why she made sure the Tilly's heating always went on full blast, although she knew they'd never believe her. She had an uneasy feeling about them; she couldn't explain it, but she felt they needed all the luck they could get. She continued prodding the fire, staring into the dancing flames. She liked warmth, anyway. As a general rule, the hotter a place, the more she liked it. She heard a scurrying behind her, and snapped around to stare at the couch. Because of the design of the house, it had no wall behind it. It's back faced straight into the hallway, meaning nothing could have fallen down the back of it. Standing warily, Liza looked around the couch. Nothing. As she turned away, though, she heard another scurrying. Curious, she knelt down again. Could they have mice? Leaning right down, she looked underneath the couch. It was too dark to really see anything, so, carefully, she reached her hand under, in the hopes of scaring out the mouse, if there was one. Her hand crept under the couch slowly, moving herself further in, until her entire arm was under the couch.

"Ah!" She yelped, withdrawing her hand quickly, pulling out with it one of Jennifer's earrings. She muttered another curse, wiping her hand on her housecoat. One earring, one wounded hand... no mice though. She shook her head, turned, and threw herself back on the couch, eyes closed. She was clearly over-worked. Maybe she needed a break?

Liza had not seen Glenda, stood on the back of the couch. Maybe she had heard the shriek as Glenda brought the fire stoker around with all the force she could manage; point first, into her cranium. Regardless, she didn't have time to react, other than a hurried couple of gasps and the vague awareness that the world was fading around her. The last thing she heard was an indignant, hoarse roar which melted into the crackling hiss of the fire, and the last thing she felt was the soothing warmth that could have been the fire's heat, but the outside observer could tell you was more likely the blood oozing over her face and down her neck, caking her grey-black hair and turning it a nausea inducing shade of brown.

Chucky grabbed Glenda's hand and pulled her down from the back of the sofa, face twisting in rage.

"What the fuck was that?"

"She died."

"I know she fucking died, moron, but how are we gonna make this look like a suicide? No one's going to stab themselves in the brain with a fire stoker! Jesus Christ, what the fuck were you thinking?"

"I... I don't know." Glenda gave a petulant sigh, staring hard at the floor.

"Fucking think, you stupid shit!" Chucky punched the back of the sofa, storming around to look at Liza's quietly dying body. "Now what are we gonna do?"

"I don't know." Glenda repeated, irritation creeping into her voice.

"As soon as Tiff comes home and finds her maid fucking murdered on the sofa, she's gonna get scared."

"I'm sorry..." Glenda whispered, still staring at the floor.

"She'll end up running, or calling the police or something."

"I'm sorry." She repeated, a quietly menacing tone lying underneath her breathiness.

"Good job sending the whole fuckin' plan to shit."

"I said I'm fucking SORRY!" Glenda shrieked, sparks flying from her eyes as she and her father glared at each other. "It's not my fault the plan went wrong!"

"Uh, wrong." Chucky growled, his voice menacing and low. "Who knocked the plates over in the kitchen? Who nearly got found, twice? Who used a fucking poker as the murder weapon?"

"And who stood around doing goddamned nothing as I covered all that shit up?" Glenda hissed back, going as high and squeaky as her father could go low and gravelly. "At least I did something, you just stood there staring at her."  
"I was planning! Thinking ahead. Do you ever even do that, you little shit?"

"Fuck you."

Chucky stormed over to her, grabbing her hair and pointing a finger in her face.

"Don't you fucking dare talk to me like that!" Glenda blinked a little, but refused to admit defeat. Defiantly, she glared back into her father's eyes, refusing to admit he was hurting her, refusing to admit she was wrong. "I've been responsible for putting you in two bodies now, you ungrateful brat. I coulda left you downtown, to get completely ruined, even killed... you got promise, kid, but you don't know shit about the world. And I said I was gonna teach you. But if you EVER talk to me like that again, I will fucking END. YOU. You got that?"

Glenda stared up at him, feeling uncomfortable, hot, pricking tears well up in her eyes. She bit her lip; her face crumpled trying to hold back the inevitable tears. With a squeaky grunt of effort, she stamped on Chucky's foot, shoving him away, and running from the house, oblivious to her father's rage.

As soon as the air hit her face, the mid afternoon's stale, stoic air, she continued running back to the house across the road, not caring who saw, not paying any attention to the world around her. She stumbled through the door, crawled across the living room, and crumbled into a corner, curling herself up as small as she could manage. She gasped and sobbed, wanting to cry, wanting the tears to flow out of her, so she could get rid of the horrible feelings that were rolling around in her gut. But no tears came. She wailed, digging her nails into her skin, but felt only the dullest pain. Forcing herself to choke and scream, beating her head, pulling her hair, but still the tears were absent.

It was a full fifteen minutes before Chucky returned, giving her a dismissive glance. He walked straight through to the kitchen, not saying a word. He knew, although he hated to admit it, that he probably shouldn't have been quite so direct. He was aware that he should probably treat Glenda differently to the way he'd treat any other partner in crime, and that the unfamiliar twisting of his gut was probably "Guilt". He ran a hand over his face, and made himself some coffee. Then, almost before he knew what he was doing, he poured a glass of milk for Glenda, and carried both drinks through to the front room. He seemed to be acting purely on instinct, as a part of his mind was violently questioning everything he was doing, but, intrigued, Chucky decided to go with it.

"Here."

Chucky handed her the glass of milk, and she looked up at him, eyes swimming and confused.

"I can't cry." She whispered.

"Nah. It'll probably be a couple of days before you start crying or bleeding. Can you feel pain?"

"A little."

Chucky nodded, as if to reinforce his point, and then held the milk out to her again. "Take it."

"Not thirsty."

"Of course you're not thirsty; you're still a mostly empty body. But if you don't eat and drink now and then, you're going to pass out."

Grudgingly, Glenda took the milk, not looking at her father. He sat down next to her, sipping his coffee.

"Could really do with some whisky or something..." He mumbled, more for the sake of breaking silence than anything. "Do you like whisky?"

"I'm nine."

"Right, right... better wait a couple of years." He sniffed, taking another sip. "Fourteenth birthday."

"You drunk whisky when you were fourteen?" Glenda looked at him, quizzical and disbelieving. Glenda remembered her mother's expression when she'd been caught trying some of the red wine they kept in the cellar...

"Well, that was the first time I got brought some of my own. My mom used to mix some in with my drinks though, when I was a kid."

"Why?"

Chucky opened his mouth to respond, but shook his head.

"You don't want to know."

"Yes I do."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh..." Glenda nodded, looking down, awkwardly. She sniffed. "I didn't mess up too much, did I?"

There was a long pause, where Chucky found himself suppressing a spark or two of rage, something he hadn't needed to do in a while.

"Not that bad. I managed to make it look like she'd been sleeping when someone broke in. Burglary, that kind of shit."

"That's a really good idea." Glenda smiled, glad that he didn't seem to be too pissed at her any more. She shuffled a little closer to him, looking up at him as he stared out of the window. "You know, I learnt the fire poker thing from an article about you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah... last year, at school, we had to do a project about myths and legends, so I did one about you, 'cos you're kind of a legend."

"Why'd you chose me?" Chucky found himself smiling.

"Don't know... I... I didn't know you were my dad then. But I just... felt like we were kind of connected."

"How'd it go?"

"I wasn't allowed to hand it in, and I was made to go to a counsellor for a month." There was a pause, as Chucky looked down at her, startled.

"That must have been one hell of a presentation." He continued sipping his coffee, smiling slightly. "If you study the same way you kill, you woulda gotten an A, I'm sure."

Glenda seemed very cheered by this, and he found himself getting happier each time she smiled. What the hell was going on? Was this what fathers were supposed to do? Was this how they were supposed to act? She gazed up at him, with curious blue-green eyes, her bobbing mess of red ringlets framing her face and making her look like she should be lying in a field of poppies somewhere. She smiled.

"Tell me about the first time you killed someone."

"No." Chucky shook his head. "It's... it's not a good story."

"Please?"

Chucky looked down at her. Fuck it, he thought, she had to find out sooner or later.

"Alright..." He shifted a little, wondering where to start. "The first person I ever killed was my father." Glenda gasped slightly, and leaned forward. Chucky glanced at her, before clearing his throat. This was a story few, if any, had ever heard.


	7. Chapter 7

"Me, my Mom and my Dad lived in a shitty apartment in New Jersey. It was run down..." It was disgusting. He wasn't going to tell Glenda about the beer stains and peeling wallpaper, the ever present smell of cigarettes and vomit... even though he remembered it all perfectly. There was a lot of this story, Chucky decided, that he wouldn't be telling Glenda. The kid didn't need to know all the gory details... but that wouldn't stop him thinking about it. "It was a crap-hole, but it was cheap, which was what we needed. Mom was supporting us with a job at the local Walmart and a business she ran from home, laundering people's clothes for them... but Dad was a lazy drunk. He was never around, unless he was completely drunk€ off his ass. He used to hit me a lot. I didn't mind, I could take it. I mean, it hurt like shit, but it was the only attention I ever got from him. I thought it was normal. Once I started school, he got worse. He'd make me run errands for him so I'd always be late, and then if I came home early and caught him doing something... or someone he shouldn't, I got another beating and wasn't allowed to go to school because I was covered in bruises. Mom would get so mad at him. That was what pissed me off, when he hit Mom. I could take it, because half the time I deserved it, plus I knew I could get better. But Mom was fragile, tired... and she worked so hard to give us a somewhere decent life..."

Chucky remembered the nights where he'd lay on his mattress, listening to the yelling, to the muffled cries, waiting for the door to slam so he could crawl through to his parents' room and lie there with her, in the dark, on the beer-stained bed, just feeling her breathing.

"And... one day he went too far. It was the same old shit, arguing about his drinking, her job, the general loveless marriage... and I could hear him yelling about why she'd spent all his money... and..."

And his mother had a good reason for spending the money she'd earned. His father hadn't known she was pregnant. The young Charles had yet to understand that the drunken lout of a father often forced himself upon his beloved mother. To a young child, right is right, wrong is wrong, and violence is violence. When his mother had found out about the unexpected, unwanted pregnancy, she'd marched straight down to the nearest clinic, on her own, and paid for the nurses to terminate it, more for the baby's sake than her own; it broke her heart to see Charles living in such filth, she couldn't bear to see another child in that apartment. By the time she got home, she was still feeling weak, and drained, both mentally and physically. When she wasn't forthcoming with information on where that week's booze money had gone, it was all she could do to curl up in a ball as her husband hit and kicked. Charles hadn't known any of this. He had just heard the yells and crawled out after the door slammed, not prepared for the bleeding cuts or broken bones that now lay in place of his mother.

"I went into their room and found her, bleeding... dying..." Her eyes had swum in and out of focus as she'd gazed up at her son, and reached out for his hand.

"She just looked at me, and said "don't let him get you". Then she closed her eyes. I wanted to..." curl up and sleep beside her... die right there with her... "Help her. But... she stopped breathing. She'd died." She'd left him. She'd left him alone with the monster of a man, the man she'd promised to keep him safe from.

"Mom had been saving up money so me and her could leave Dad. I knew about it, but Dad didn't. Now, you'll realise this when you grow up, but... kids have a weird sense of logic. Once a kid gets an idea, they don't let go of it." Right is right, wrong is wrong, revenge is fair play. "They can't think of any other way to see the world. And I was only about six at the time, so it really kinda fucked with my brain. So I figured, if he'd killed Mom, then I had to kill him. It was only fair." Glenda was nodding, but Chucky knew she could only vaguely sympathise. "After the funeral, no one even thought that they should take me away from Dad. I guess everyone just thought he was sad, not drunk... so I was left in the rat-hole, with the vicious bastard... and I knew it would be easy."

Chucky's eyes turned steely, with a glint of menace as he started to recall the thick, dark night that it had happened. He couldn't think of a better word to describe it. Heavy with silence, saturated with the smell of beer, stale sweat and piss, and just warm enough to be uncomfortable. He had always felt those nights were "thick" nights.

"I took a knife from the kitchen... the long, sharp one Mom had always used for cutting my sandwiches in two." He chuckled, eyes sparkling. "I guess I was already fucked up by that point. I went through to his bedroom and sat on his chest while he was passed out drunk. I kicked him in the face to wake him up, because I wanted to see his eyes when I killed him." Wanted to see the recognition, the surprise... wanted to know that the rat bastard felt pain. "And when he woke up, he looked at me, and as he started to yell, I reached forward and slit his neck open, from ear to ear." Chucky remembered the simultaneous intrigue and disgust he had felt as the thick, clotted blood gushed out, over his hands and legs, staining his shoes.

"I took Mom's money from her bedside cabinet, and left him sputtering on the floor. I lived on the streets for a while, after that. Learned how to look after myself pretty quickly, and ended up hanging around with a group of guys. One of them used to be a philosophy teacher..." until he lost his job for fucking his students, and got kicked out by his wife. He was the one who had driven Chucky to leave behind the name "Charles". When a homeless drunk who was into barely legal teenagers tells you he always found your name to have a "romantic resonance", you tell him to go fuck himself and start using a nickname. "I'll always remember, he told me a quote from... Plato, or Socrates or something, after I'd been on the streets a while. He said "Give me a child until he was seven, then I'll give you the man". And I just remember thinking, if I'd killed someone at age six, was that all I was gonna be for the rest of my life? A homeless runaway?"

"So what happened next?" Glenda was gazing up at him, enraptured. Chucky turned to look at her, her eyes wide and sparkling with wonder, her body so small, and her mind so fragile. It was the first time he had really looked at her. A slow smile twisted itself across Chucky's mangled face, as he looked away for a moment.

"Well..."

A shrill, ear piercing scream cut through the mid afternoon, shocking both of them out of the story and back to the present with a sickening bump. Jennifer's car was back in the driveway. Screams and yells were resonating from inside the villa. Chucky flashed Glenda a twisted grin.

"I'll tell you the rest some other time. Right now, we have to get on with stage two."

Glen was stood paralyzed, staring at the sofa. The front room had been ransacked, the furniture was ruined, and there, her head in the middle of a scarlet bloom on the hardwood floor, was Liza, her eyes staring into the distance, glassy. Glen could do nothing but scream as this horrific scene danced before his eyes in the flickering light of the fireplace. His legs were weak and wobbly, but his feet were frozen to the floor, meaning that he couldn't fall down, as much as he wanted to. A myriad of traumatic images burst through his brain, giving him another look at every repressed memory and nightmarish face, making him scream all the more.

It may have only been five seconds, but to Glen, it felt like a life time before his mother swept into the room and lifted him from the floor, burying his face in her shoulder as she ran from the room, face pale, eyes wide.

"Hush sweetie... hush, it's ok, just don't think about it. Mommy's going to call the police, you hear? First thing we're gonna do is call the police so they can figure out what's going on." Glen was wailing wordlessly, tears streaming down his face, chest twisting and fist clenched as Liza's deathly face loomed into his memory. The police arrived in good time, but by that time Glen was still in shock. He had fallen silent now, refusing to talk to, or even look at, the nice young officer who was wrapping a blanket around him and trying to get a statement. He just hugged his knees to his chest, his big blue eyes staring into nothing. Amidst the flashing lights and chatter of policemen, people asking for witness statements and trying to keep the neighbours away from the property, no one seemed to notice Glen, curled up on the porch, under a police blanket, his warm juice going cold as evening began to set in. With all the hassle and hubbub, no one noticed his eye twitching as he stared out into the dim light of the street, and whimpered for his mother.

"Please, you've got my statement, I need to go and speak to my son." Jennifer was close to tears herself, confused and scared. She had to look brave. She had to look brave for Glen, but there was a little voice at the back of her mind, the little voice that whispered every time the power went out, or every time she watched a scary movie. The voice that whispered; "I'd never die that easy. I know your secret, Tiff." She shook her head, trying to lose the voice, but just succeeded in looking more tired and scared. "Please. Let me go and see my son." The officer took a long time going through his notes. Eventually, he just nodded, and Jennifer ran to the front of the house. There she found Glen, staring into nothing, so small; she almost could have missed him. She sat down next to him, knowing she had to be careful.

"Glen, sweetie. Are you alright?"

Slowly, Glen turned to face her, looking at her with those big, soulful eyes. He licked his lips, but he couldn't say anything. He just whimpered. Jennifer wrapped her arms around him.

"It's ok. It's going to be ok."

"Mummy..." He whispered, his bony fingers tightening as he hugged her, gripping her tight. "What if... it was..."

"Shhhhh." Jennifer stopped him. They hadn't said that name in a long time. It had been years since they'd last talked about him, aside from Glenda's bizarre fascination with the urban legend. Even she knew better than to say the name in her mother's presence, although apparently she couldn't remember why. "It's not him. It can't be him."

"But... what if it is?"

There was a pause.

"Then we move again."

"But... Glenda..."

"She's not coming back, sweetie. Not for a while."

The silence fell on both of them, sat on the porch, surrounded by police tape and flashing lights. Eventually, someone came out of the house and told them that he was Lieutenant James Grady, and, although he couldn't say too much at this time, it appeared to be a burglary gone wrong, rather than an act of premeditation. It was settled that Jennifer and Glen would go and stay at Neil's house, contact numbers were exchanged, and a few more condolences uttered. They were allowed upstairs to pack a few bags, and then ushered into the squad car. Glen was so tired; he could barely keep his eyes open, and lay with his head on his mother's lap, as she absent-mindedly stroked his hair. Neither was alert enough to notice the curtain twitching slightly in the house over the road.

Behind the curtain, Chucky looked down at his daughter.

"You know where this "Neil" schmuck lives?"

Glenda nodded. "We went there at Easter."

"Well get your shoes on and pack your bag, kid. We're moving out."


	8. Chapter 8

Neil's house, while not as palatial as Jennifer's villa, was still a fairly impressive building, by Beverly Hills standards. It was all white stone and glass, and looked modern and classy. Jennifer liked it, the first time they visited; she had said it was "executive", and "safe". Glen had liked it; he thought it looked kind of futuristic. Glenda had said that it looked as boring as Neil was, and gotten a stern glare from her mother. That had been months ago. Now, though, Jennifer and Glen looked up at the house with no excitement or intrigue. It was simply a place they had to stay. Neil helped them carry their few meagre bags through to the front room of the house, flashing comforting smiles all he could. Glen was given some warm milk, but refused to leave his mother's side, so eventually he fell asleep on the couch. Jennifer couldn't sleep. As traumatic as Glen had found everything, Jennifer had a whole lifetime of other memories to repress. She sat there, watching him closely; stroking his hair was he fell asleep.

Neil cleared his throat behind her, making her jump.

"Coffee?"

"Thanks." She smiled gratefully, holding his hand as he sat on the arm of the couch. She leant her head against him, suddenly feeling much safer.

"You should really get some sleep."

"No... if Glen wakes up and I'm not here, he'll get scared."

"You sure?"

She smiled up at him apologetically, but he just smiled back and went to get her a blanket. Where most of the men in her past would have yelled or moaned or manipulated her to bed, Neil just smiled and let her worry for her son. He was a good man. The kind of man she should be with. "Maybe not the kind of man you deserve" that oh so familiar voice at the back of her mind kept saying, but Jennifer was too tired and worried to deal with it now. If it had just been a burglary gone wrong, then she had to worry about insurance... and if it wasn't? If it was a premeditated crime... maybe even by him... she shook the thought from her mind. It can't be. It mustn't be. She had to get over this ghost of her past, and she had to remain composed. She thought about Liza's poor family, and how the police must be notifying them now... she imagined the tears, the heartbreak... she looked down at Glen, and eased his head onto a cushion, moving to a different chair. There was a lot for her to think about, and so the sadness washed over her, until she eventually fell asleep.

The whole street was given over to executives, directors, and other high-paying yet ultimately pointless jobs and, as such, every house on the block looked like a giant desk toy. Glass, chrome, steel and concrete. Cold and sleek, much like many of the occupants. One such occupant was a Mr Jeremy Trebeck, Junior C.E.O of the "Mother's Own" corporation, who made clothes, toys and other paraphernalia for babies and young children. He, of course, knew nothing about babies or children, other than the girl he had a thing with in college may have had one, and it may have been his. He knew nothing of how to care for them, or the sort of things they needed, and he did not particularly want to gain this knowledge any time soon. He knew how to advertise, how to hire, and how to fire, and in business, that was all he needed. He lived in the spacious four bedroom house on his own, enjoying the space to relax, unwind, and occasionally harass his cleaning staff. He also had a thing for bragging to neighbours about anything vaguely significant he'd done that day, and was incredibly nosy. It was for that reason that, as he was driving home and saw the police car moving away from Neil's house, he had decided to pull over and have a chat.

"Neil!" Jeremy had laughed, leaning out of the car window as it swept itself down into the bodywork with an expensive sounding whirr. "How are you, buddy?"

"Not now, Jeremy." Neil had muttered, picking suitcases up off the sidewalk.

"What was with the feds, huh?"

"They weren't feds, they were policemen. My girlfriend had her house broken into, so she and her son are staying here. Now please, can you just leave it?"

Irritable bastard, Jeremy had made a mental note, before shrugging and smiling.  
"Alright, pal, I get the picture. Golf on Sunday, yeah?" He had smiled flashily, but had been met with a stony expression from Neil, which suggested he should swing his car round onto his own drive and maybe not talk to this particular neighbour today.

Jeremy shook his head, unlocking the door and dropping his keys in the bowl on the table. He clapped his hands, and the fireplace leapt on, the room suddenly filled with ambient sound and light, which was completely lost on such a shallow creature as Jeremy. He threw himself onto his white leather couch, kicked his shoes off so they bounced across the super-polished hardwood floor, and lay back. Pushing a discreet button in the arm of the couch, a small panel popped open, revealing a remote control caddy. He only had one remote, of course, after buying an incredibly expensive combination TV/DVD/cable/music/gaming/whatever else he wanted station, but he had seen the couch in a movie and had decided he wanted it. He flicked on the TV, switched to one of his favourite adult channels, set about pleasing himself and, when most would feel guilty or embarrassed, he simply felt sleepy, and so indulged that need as well.

Jeremy Trebeck awoke with a start, grunting as he sat upright. Nude, shapely girls debased themselves in high definition, but they were not what had caused the disruption to his sleep. He stayed very still, barely breathing. A heavy thud, much like the one that had woken him, resounded through the house. Wordlessly grabbing the nearest thing to a weapon he could find (a baseball bat autographed by his favourite team), he moved through the house, trying to locate the noise. He stared into the now darkening house, wielding the bat and trying to cover for his fear.

"Who's there?"

No response. He tried using his more impressive voice.

"Show yourself! I have the chief of police on speeddial!"

Still nothing. He continued creeping towards the source of the thumping, which he realised was in his games room. He pushed the door open, looking around before stepping into the room.

"I said show yourself, goddamit! You can't frighten me, jackass, now hand yourself over or get the hell off my property!" He entered the room. In the dim light, he could make out no human shapes. He could, however, see that the shelf bearing several hundred titles of video games had collapsed, and the cases were now slowly falling off the end. Had that been the cause of the noise? He lowered the bat, letting his guard drop for a second. That second, however, was all it took for a small, spritely figure to leap from behind the door, trip Jeremy's feet from under him, and beat him hard on the head. Jeremy's world suddenly got darker, as he felt himself drifting off again...

When he came to again, he was still lying on the floor of the games room, and the lights were still out, but this time his hands had been tied, so tight that he could feel the cord cutting into his wrists. He had also been quite severely gagged, so he couldn't yell out. Dark shapes loomed around him.

"Don't mind us, bub. We're just gonna be using your house for a couple of days. If ya stay nice and quiet, we won't kill you. Heck, if you're really good, we might even let you eat!" A mad laugh cut through the dark, making Jeremy quake. He began to struggle, but his bonds only cut into him more, and one of the figures dropped something heavy on his back, knocking the wind out of him. He rolled on the floor, gasping and struggling to breathe, as the second figure giggled.

"Thank you for your cell phone, as well." It was a girl's voice, but not like any he'd ever heard before. It sounded as if someone were pouring golden treacle over shards of glass; smooth and sweet, but with an undeniable tone of menace. "Made it really easy to text your housekeeping staff. You told them they're fired, by the way. So they won't be coming to see you."

"Now stay here and we promise we'll take good care of the house."

And with that, the dark figures closed the door, plunging him into darkness as he whimpered and snivelled, the king usurped within his own castle.


	9. Chapter 9

"Say what you like about these executive schmucks." Chucky said, mostly to himself, as he examined one of the many fine cigars he had found secreted in the house. "But they've got good taste." He inhaled deeply, and then blew out a thick, dark plume of woody scented smoke. Glenda sniffed, coughed, and moved from the sofa to the window. If the last house had been good for stake-outs, then this place was an absolute dream. It had large windows made of one-way mirror, meaning you could see out, but no one else could see in. It had soundproof rooms, so many burglar alarms that not even a cat could get near the house, and, most importantly, it had a billion and one potential weapons. Of course, it was about two in the morning, so nothing was going on. No one was moving. By this point, everyone on the block was sleeping quietly. Well, everyone except Chucky, Glenda, the hog-tied Jeremy, and probably the bed-wetting, traumatised Glen in the house opposite.

Glenda smiled down at her UnDeadTed, and hugged it to her chest. They'd got Liza. That bitch had deserved it. But now they were going to get Neil, and Glen, and her mother too. They all deserved it. They were all horrible people. She hated them. She wanted them all to die. The only person she didn't want to see dead was her father. She wasn't sure yet whether the feeling was mutual, though; he was a hard person to gauge, since he had such an erratic temperament. One moment, he'd be friendly, the next he'd be cold and businesslike, and then the next he'd be wild and furious. A lesser person would have screamed and run, but not Glenda. While she found it hard to predict him or read him like she could other people, she also found him... interesting. He made sense to her.

She turned. He was sprawling across the couch, "Good Guy" sneakers leaving stains of a curious red-brown colour over the spotless white leather, Cuban cigar trailing ash across the highly polished floor.

"Are we going to kill him?"

"Nah." Chucky grunted, taking another puff on the cigar, barely looking up at Glenda. "Too much hassle. There's nowhere around here we could hide the body. Best to keep him alive, but keep him out of the way."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Chucky's head snapped round, indignantly. "I've been in the business for what, twenty-five years? You think I don't know what schmucks we can kill and what schmucks we can't?" Glenda bowed her head slightly, and Chucky settled back. "Besides, this doofus wouldn't think about who'd locked him up. Once we're done with the plan, we let this guy escape, he's gonna give such a statement that the police will never even have a clue."

"What do you mean?" Glenda cocked her head to one side, looking at him like a clueless puppy. She would almost be cute, if it weren't for that permanent expression; brows slightly furrowed, smile slightly too wide, and a glint in her eye that shone like fire.

"He thinks he's a play-boy." Chucky sat up as Glenda clambered to join him on the couch (a tricky task as it was roughly as tall as she was) "He'll give the police a statement saying how he took on thirteen ex-wrestlers, but they managed to band together and knock him out. The police won't have a clue."  
"Oh." Glenda nodded, hugging her UnDeadTed again. She looked at her father. "Dad?"  
"What?"

"What's a play-boy?"

Chucky blanched slightly, staring at the naive innocence on Glenda's face. He shrugged.

"It's... it's a man who thinks he can get any woman he wants and do anything he wants."

"Like what?"

Chucky double-took.

"Seriously?"

Glenda continued to look at him with wide-eyed innocence. Chuck y shifted uncomfortably.

"Uh... I'll tell you when you're older. Now look, let's get planning. I know you wanna off this Neil creepazoid. Believe me, I do too. But I'm not sure if we shouldn't go for something a little more... nefarious."

"Like... like what?"

"Well, I'm not one for emotional manipulation and torture, but I think you'll agree this is something of a special case." Chucky grinned, but Glenda continued to stare blankly. Sighing, he lay back and continued savouring the cigar. "Don't worry. Just do what I say, when I say, and it'll all be fine."

There was a moment's silence. Glenda yawned, nose wrinkling as her face stretched. Chucky gave her a cursory glance through the cigar smoke. "Go to sleep."

"Not tired." Glenda lied. Chucky raised his eyebrows at her. They sat, staring each other out for a moment, and after a while, Chucky shrugged. "Fine. Pass out tomorrow. Just better not fuck up the job."

"I won't!" Chucky sneered to himself. Glenda sat quietly for a second, but quickly jumped back to chirpy energy. "Tell me a story!"

"Fuck off."

"Come on! I want to know what happened to you after you'd killed your dad! You were on the street! What happened? What happened?"

Chucky rolled his eyes, letting his head drop back and hit the arm of the couch. He glared up at the ceiling. "If I tell you what happened to me after that, will you shut up and go to sleep?"

"Yuh-huh!"

"Fine... alright, so... I was seven... or maybe eight, and I'd killed the no-good drunk, run off with a bag full of clothes and spent a while on the streets, right?"

"Right."

"Now, at this point, everyone knew me as Charlie Ray. I wasn't that much of a criminal, at the time. I stole what I needed to eat, or wear, but other than that, I pretty much kept to myself. Had a group of guys who'd take me places, let me help out on small jobs... said if I helped them out, they'd keep me away from social services. I didn't want anyone to adopt me. Didn't want to live in a care home, with loads of other kids."

"Why not?" Glenda was already spellbound.

"Because I was a killer." Chucky's eyes lost focus, as he let himself slip into the memory. "All those other kids, they were in homes 'cos they got beaten, or their parents died, or couldn't look after them. Me, I'd dealt with all of that shit, sure, but I'd got out of it. I'd got out of it by killing. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't guilty or anything. Sick bastard had it coming. But... I felt like I should stay away from everyone. Like I wasn't really a person, so I shouldn't be around other people. Not good people. So there I was, eight years old, living on the streets with bums, drunks and murderers. I'd started smoking and drinking before I was ten, and I cut my own hair with a pocket knife. Every year or so, when it got so long that someone could grab hold of it and pull me backwards, I'd hack chunks off with my knife. I read, though. I told you about the guy who used to be a philosophy teacher?"

Glenda nodded, eyes half closed as she leant against the back of the couch.

"Yeah. Well, he always used to get me books to read, and pens and paper. Told me reading and writing would be the skill that saved my life. Total shit; it's helped me out, but it ain't never saved my life. I was... fourteen or so, when I left that bunch of guys. There were... misunderstandings."

"Misunderstandings?"

In this case, Chucky had "misunderstood" what the philosophy teacher had wanted from their friendship.

"He... pissed me off, ok? He started trying to... do things I didn't like. And I told him to go fuck himself, but he kept going. And one time he went too far, came too close... I stabbed him, twisting my knife around in his stomach... I hadn't meant to kill him, but... I left the knife in him and ran to the other side of town, but no one cared. He was a bum, I was a bum... Shit, the body could still be there. But when I found myself a new place to stay, I was thinking hard. I'd liked it. I'd felt my pocket knife cut through his skin, his fat, his muscle... I'd felt the blood gushing over my hands... and he had shitty blood, you know, like my father. Clotted and full of drugs and booze... and it ran out over my hands, just like my father's had. But... it was weird. I liked it. I liked the look of fear in his eyes. I liked that I was in control. I spent so much of my childhood being afraid of people that were bigger than me, stronger than me... I tried to be invisible, but people just bugged me more. And then, when I killed that guy, I realised that I could be in control. I realised that killing felt good. Kinda messed up, I guess, but... Anyway, once I got to the other side of state, I met up with Eddie Kaputo. That's when things really..."

He looked over at Glenda, who was fast asleep. Chucky smiled slightly, feeling a little embarrassed. He hopped down from the sofa and stubbed out what was left of the cigar on the laminate, before sitting down by the window, staring out into the street. He'd sleep. Later. For now he was lost in memories, reminiscing periods of his life he had vowed never to go back to. He was changing. Was it just getting old? Or was it spending time with his child? He'd never bonded with Glen, not really. It had been a shallow, shapeless relationship, mostly born out of competition with Tiffany. They weren't fit for kids, not if they were preoccupied with competing.

But here, with his daughter, he was finding a kind of... parallel version of himself. A chance to do things over. Every father figure, every friend... they'd all messed him up, and screwed him over, eventually. Even Tiffany. Tiffany, who he'd thought was his soul-mate. Who he'd been convinced was the one who could make it all make sense. Who'd fucked him over at the first opportunity, in favour of fame and someone else's movie-star lifestyle. And now she was raising their children, lying about him, lying about them, all to make her own life better. Snarling to himself, he slammed his fist into the wooden floor. Dull pain spread through his knuckles. They'd have to act quickly if they wanted this plan to go off before they left DNA. All the better. Chucky's twisted reflection glared back from the darkened window, short, sharp white teeth glinting like knives. The lying bitch deserved to pay.


	10. Chapter 10

"Morning, sweet-face."

Glen smiled up at his mother, but it was a weak smile. His eyes were bloodshot and sunken, the skin already greying around them. He often had trouble sleeping, and it was no surprise to Jennifer that he had slept fitfully all night. He coughed, his wiry frame shaking as he did so, his large, heavy head bobbing against the pillows. Jennifer stroked his hair and hugged him.

"Poor baby... you're ill... too ill to go to school."

"No, mummy," he whimpered, pausing to cough throatily. "I want to go..."

"No, I won't hear of it. You're going to stay here and get well."

"Um... Jennifer?" Neil shifted, embarrassed. "Are you sure? I mean, I can't take the day off..."

"That's alright. I'll stay with him." She took her phone from the coffee table and began dialling. "I'm gonna call your school and tell them you're not coming in, and then I'm going to call the people on set and tell them that I have more important things to do today." She smiled, bent over, and kissed Glen on the forehead. "You get some rest, sweetie."

"Oh... ok, mummy..." Glen wriggled further into the couch, pulling the blankets up around him. Neil followed Jennifer through to the kitchen, and leant quietly against the cool black granite surface of the kitchen counter, watching her as she spoke animatedly into the phone, securing both herself and her son the day off. Eventually, she hung up the phone and smiled at him. He smiled back, holding his arms out to her. She hugged him gratefully, burying her head in his shoulder.

"I wish I could stay here and look after the poor guy."

"It's ok, Neil. You don't have to feel bad."

"Even so... his sister runs away, and now this? The poor kid."

"I know..." Jennifer sniffed, stepping back and looking up at him, sniffing. "Glen's such a sensitive child... He's just as strong as Glenda, but... he has so much compassion... I don't want him to ever lose that. He can't ever lose his hope. Because then I'll lose mine..." Her eyes were sad, but she refused to cave to her emotions, giving her a sense of grim determination. She crossed to the cabinet, grabbing a tall, clean glass from the shelf and filling it with water. "I've been in a place before where I felt like I had no hope. And I'm not ever going back there. So we're going to wait for Glen to deal with these... "events"... in his own way. And then, when he's dealt with them, we'll figure out what's going to happen next." And with that, she returned to the living room, donning her best breezy smile for the drowsy Glen. Neil watched her go, lost in his own thoughts. Sometimes he got the feeling there was a lot more to her life than she would ever tell him.

He continued his thoughts, through saying goodbye to Glen and Jennifer, and through dialling his phone as he left the house. He was too busy to even consider that he was being watched. Yet, across the street, through binoculars, Glenda could see her mother's boyfriend clearly, and she could tell that there was something on his mind.

"He's leaving the house!" She called back to her father, who was leafing through one of the executive magazines he had found hidden in the couch caddy.

"How's he look?"

"Like a douche, as usual." Glenda replied, sipping from her milk. "He's on the phone to someone. He looks worried. And he keeps looking around like he's worried someone's going to overhear."

"Really?" Chucky looked up, moving swiftly over to Glenda and taking the binoculars from her. He saw Neil unlock the car and throw his briefcase to the passenger seat, and he could tell Glenda was right.

"That's a good eye, kid. See the way he keeps looking back at the house when he's not talking? That doesn't just mean he don't want to be overheard. That means he doesn't want a specific person to overhear." Chucky handed the binoculars back to Glenda as Neil drove off to work. "Looks like Neily-boy might just be keeping secrets from someone..." Chucky trailed off, stroking his chin. After a while, his eyes glinted, and his face twisted into a gleeful smile, a chuckle that sounded like gravel going through a card-shuffler emanated from his throat. "Hey kid, I know you want to see your mom suffer, but how would you feel about adding in a little psychological torment?"

Glenda stared at him blankly for a moment, before smiling.

"You mean, like, making her go crazy?"

"Well not quite to that extent, but essentially, yeah."

"How?"

"Ehh. I got some ideas." Chucky waved vaguely. He sat on the floor, staring out the window. Now was the annoying part. They had done all they could for phase one, but here they needed to wait for the right moment before phase two. He looked over at Glenda, who was still watching the house through binoculars, her brow set in determination. A thought struck him.

"Hey kid... you do realise this is gonna break up your whole family, right? Even if we don't kill all of them?"

"Don't care." Glenda shrugged. "I hate mom. Glen's a douche. Neil's nothing."

"Really? You don't have any... I dunno, regret? Sympathy?"

"Nope." Glenda sniffed, derisively. "They lied to me. They all lied to me, and now they should pay." She put the binoculars down, stood quietly, and turned. "Do you want anything from the kitchen?"

"Nah, I'm good." Chucky watched her, carefully. After closer inspection, he had come to the decision that the kid was a lot more messed up than he had originally suspected. He wasn't going to probe, partly because he wanted to respect her privacy, but also because he was still dragging his feet about actually committing to the role of "father". He'd work his way there, if he wanted to. First teacher, then mentor, then father. There was a crash from the kitchen, and Chucky sighed, standing and walking through to see Glenda looking like a startled cat at the remnants of what was once a drinking glass, but was now shattered across the kitchen floor. She looked at Chucky, guilt in her eyes.

There was a pause.

"You're fuckin' clumsy, you know that?"

"You... aren't gonna yell?"

"I don't give a shit, Glenda, it's not my house. C'mon." He grabbed the dust-buster from the kitchen counter, and started clearing up. "Pick up the bigger pieces or it'll break." Glenda did as she was told and picked up everything bigger than her thumbnail. She smiled.

Janine Weiss was thirty two, single, and, frankly, too old for this shit. She had, after months of relentless flirting and poor advances, caved in and agreed to meet with Jeremy Trebeck, her boss, for lunch. It had not been with any intention of a relationship, although knowing her, it may have blossomed. But he had stood her up. The bastard had left her standing outside one of the most pretentious restaurants in the city, and now she was pissed. As she marched up the block, clutching a scrap of paper in her fist, occasionally referencing the address written on it, she was filled with contempt. Never piss off an executive assistant, she thought. Even if we're not called "secretaries" any more, we still have connections.

She knocked on the door, but it opened as soon as she came into contact with it. The tool had probably passed out drunk.

"Jeremy?"

Distantly, she heard a voice mumble a curse. She stepped inside. No one in the front room... she closed the door behind her, and locked it with the keys in the bowl.

"I locked the door for you." She called, not sure where he was. "One of these days, you're going to get yourself killed, you know that?"

Meanwhile, in the bowels of the house, Janine's voice drifted through to the games room, where Jeremy, delirious from lack of food and human interaction, suddenly sprung to life. He had all but given up when Janine's voice reached him, but, like an angel of mercy, she gave him new hope. His renewed struggling and yelling put unexpected pressure on the ties, meaning they started to give...

"Jeremy?" Janine called, checking the upstairs rooms, which were all empty. "Jeremy, you owe me an explanation." She tried downstairs again, heading through to the kitchen. There were a few shards of glass on the floor, and an abandoned dustbuster. She had bent over to pick it up and return it to the counter, when Jeremy, looking haggard and bruised, burst from the next room, tearing a gag from his mouth.

"Janine! Run!"

The image and command were so jarring with what she had expected that, even though her survival instinct told her to do so, her common sense was reasoning that it had to be a misunderstanding. That was when the weight hit her in the back of the neck; five pounds of screaming, kicking, biting fury that attacked her like a mad banshee. She tore at the deafening noise, her fingernails scratching what felt like plastic until she found hair, and pulled the weight free, throwing it against the kitchen wall. She staggered slightly, looking at her assailant. A... a doll? The doll stood, coughing, shoulders heaving with rage, face contorted in anger, her red ringlets bouncing around her head and making her look manic. Janine turned on her heel and ran for the door as the doll pounced at her. She scrambled for the keys, but they had gone. She looked around in blind terror, trying o see where her assailant was, to know if she had the time to escape.

A terrible, painful scream cut through the house.

"Janine! Janine!" It was wracked with sobs. "Get out while you can! Tell someone!" Janine stepped back from the door, confused, only to trip over something unseen.

"Sorry, Janine..." the voice was as twisted as the face it came from, which loomed over her as another doll stood on her shoulders, pinning her to the floor. That was a familiar face. One that had haunted her nightmares since she'd heard the urban legend as a kid.

"Chucky?" She whispered, wondering if this was all just a nightmare.

Chucky smirked, adjusting his grip on the battery-powered electric carving knife.

"No autographs, please."

And with one swift movement, and a horrible whirr which quickly turned to a wet, grinding growl, Janine's anger, her fear, and her confusion all faded away. Something she had wanted her whole life, Chucky was willing to bet, although he was pretty sure she'd expected something more to do with yoga or tofu.

He returned to the kitchen, throwing the battery powered knife into the sink, where the blood pooled on the stainless steel. Glenda was standing on Jeremy's back, twisting a vegetable knife in his shoulder. Jeremy was sobbing. Chucky sighed, bending down by Jeremy's head, seeing with no small amount of pleasure that the shards of glass they hadn't managed to clean up were now embedded in his cheek.

"Who the fuck are you?" He managed to spit, blood mingling with his saliva.

"Us?" Chucky contemplated for a moment, and then smiled. "I'm Chucky. And that little angel twisting the knife into your spine is Glenda. Why?"

"You bastards! I'll see you pay for this!"

"Uh... no, I don't think you will. Glenda?"

"Yeah?" The savage glint in her eye filled Chucky with equal parts pride and fear.

"You wanna do the honours here?"  
Glenda, smiling as though she had just been given the best present ever, dropped to her knees and pulled the knife back, before stabbing him once in the neck and twice in the head. If he wasn't dead, he was paralyzed, and would bleed out sooner or later. A little savage, perhaps, but then we've all had younger, wilder times. Chucky stepped back, sighing.

"Come on. Let's move these bodies."

Glenda stepped down from Jeremy's back, blood dripping from the hem of her skirt, adding to the two dried brown patches higher up. Chucky could tell she was starting to get the adrenaline rush from killing. She was turning into a regular little bloody Mary. She stood watching as Chucky opened the door to the back yard, smiling.

"Thank you."

"For what?" Chucky was more occupied with getting rid of Jeremy. Glenda smiled for a moment and said nothing, before grabbing Jeremy's wrists.

"Just generally."


	11. Chapter 11

Glenda looked down at the sparkling red pool, where Janine and Jeremy lay, bobbing and unaware. They would almost be serene, if it weren't for the tense facial muscles, or the eerie dead eyes. Chucky had made an offhand comment about how they would probably want to spend the night in a hot tub together if they were alive, so this was technically doing them a favour. Glenda didn't really understand why, but as she peeked under the cover of the hot tub, standing in the cool afternoon shade, she wanted very much to let the sunlight pour over them. Where the light could get in, it glinted on the surface of the water, making it look like red satin. Experimentally, she reached a chubby plastic arm into the tub, fingers hesitating mere fractions of an inch from the surface. Biting her lip, and closing her eyes, she felt her fingers slide through the microscopic film , and opened her eyes to see one or two ripples spread across the water. She splashed a little, sending more ripples, making the red water dance, and making the bodies bob up and down, their powerless, lifeless bodies bumping against the tub, the cover and each other. She smiled, briefly, but turned away. It wasn't that much fun; it felt just the same as any other water.

She had killed three people now. The first was a moment of blind panic, she wasn't really aware of what she was doing until she was standing on his back, with the curtain falling down behind her. The second, Liza... she wasn't sure how she felt about that one. She had wanted to hurt Liza, for a long time, but again, she had acted in haste, and not had time to think about it before or after. And now number three had happened, she was beginning to wonder whether she was right for this. She had felt excitement, fear... guilt... she had wanted to see him suffer, but she wasn't sure he'd deserved to die... or was she? There was something that had been bugging her for a while now. Quietly, she slipped back inside the house.

Chucky was reclining on the couch, flicking through TV channels. He didn't look round when Glenda entered.

"I think you're gonna need to call your mom again soon. Get her really rattled."

"Dad?"

"What?"

"I was alive, before, wasn't I?"

To Chucky, this was nonsensical to say the least, and he had very little time for nonsense.

"Come again?"

"Before this." Glenda wasn't looking at him. She was staring into the empty fireplace, a puzzled expression on her face, as though she was trying to remember something from long ago. "Before Mom was Jennifer. Before... before I was a human. I remember... You were still like that, but... but Mom wasn't... who she is."

"That's right." Chucky spoke carefully, sitting up and watching her closely. He'd seen this before. Kids sometimes can't deal with the more messed up stuff that happens to them, and so they section off areas of their mind, they push all the memories and emotions down and forget that they ever happened. He'd seen what happens when they broke, too. Grown men reduced to wailing, wide-eyed wrecks, huddled up and crying because the world they'd built for themselves was built on fake memories and phoney emotions. They could never keep it repressed for long. Sooner or later, everyone had to give in to what actually happened. Glenda had the same half-haunted look in her eyes, but she was different. There was another, more inquisitive look lacing her brow. She wanted to know. "Your Mom was Tiffany Ray. I killed her and put her soul in a doll, just like I did with yours. Then she got pregnant and gave birth to you and Glen. And because we were both dolls when she got pregnant, you were both dolls when you were born."

"Except... it wasn't me and Glen, was it?" She looked at him now... or, to be more accurate, looked through him, staring at him with eyes that showed her mind was elsewhere. "Me and Glen... I was different. I was... only half there."

"Sorta." Chucky admitted, still watching her closely. "You were... that is, you and Glen both shared a body."

"You wanted Glen." Her eyes narrowed, tone a lot sharper. "You wanted Glen, but wanted him to be a killer. Mom wanted me, but wanted me to be... be... normal."

"Killing people doesn't make you abnormal, Glenda..." Chucky began, not really sure how to deal with the particular line this conversation seemed to be taking.

"But that's what Mom said." Glenda's voice started to rise. "Mom said she wanted us to be a normal family, and wanted me to be a normal girl. And you wanted your killer, but you wanted a boy. Didn't you?"

"Well, I didn't..."

"You wanted Glen!" Her heart twisted and burned like she was choking on a hot potato, boiling her chest, making it hard to breathe. It hurt like this had all happened yesterday, instead of nine years ago. "You wanted Glen over me, didn't you? Just like Mom..." She started to back across the room; feet unsteady on the laminate floors... she stumbled and sat quickly, eyes screwed tight. She curled her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around herself. She looked, Chucky couldn't help but notice, a lot like a certain other nine year old who'd had problems dealing with the idea that being a murderer was a part of his identity. A nine year old who, after being on the streets for a little over two years, had killed two people and left one other to bleed out in an alleyway. A nine year old who had cried for his lost Mother, because he had been left to a world of sin and bloodshed by the only person he had ever trusted.

Chucky sat down beside her, and slowly rested his arm on her shoulder. He grimaced as a part of his brain screamed rage at how painfully out of character this was for him, but then... even if he wasn't ready to call himself a father yet, he was still human enough to acknowledge that Glenda was a poor, confused kid who needed reassurance. She continued to sob quietly, her breathing light and uneven. Chucky pulled her closer, wrapping his other arm around her, until her head rested on his shoulder. They sat there, on the floor, in near silence for some time, her feeling as though a large part of her mind had just gone, or returned, and not knowing how to deal with it, and he, wanting nothing more than for her to stop crying.

"When Glen found us..." Chucky spoke quietly, and without realising he had anything to say. Still the rage-filled part of his brain screamed at him, but the other parts seemed content to sit back and watch where he was going with this. "I was stupid. I thought... I dunno, if I was going to have a kid, I wanted him to be a boy because I knew I'd have had any experience he could possibly be worried about. I knew I could relate more. But now I know you kids and... frankly, if it weren't for the whole doll thing, I'd question whether or not Glen's actually my kid."

Glenda sniffed a little, the sobbing fading away, but she kept herself curled up. Chucky took this as a hint that he was on the right track.

"You, on the other hand, have got all the great Ray tendencies. You're quick, you're brave, you can look out for yourself... If I have to have a kid, then I wouldn't have anyone else."

She peeked up at him over her knees, her almond-shaped blue-green eyes still damp with tears.

"Mean it?"

"I haven't had a partner for nearly ten years now, but you... Kid, I don't think I could find a better person to do a job with."

"Really?" She sat bolt upright, a wavering, sniffly smile on her face, but a smile none the less. Chucky laughed as she hugged him, more at Glenda's sudden changeability than anything.

"Yeah, but you're still a rookie. Now go get me some coffee."

Glenda smiled, before running into the kitchen. He hadn't hugged her back. Of course he wouldn't. You don't get that kind of reputation by hugging. And he didn't call her his daughter, and he wouldn't tell her he loved her, or that he was proud of her, but those few words of praise... those few words of assessed performance and truth, they meant more to her than all the meaningless "I love you"s her mother had tried to placate her with over the years.

Tiffany and Glen sat, staring up at the big flat-screen with weepy eyes as a black and white Humphrey Bogart declared his love to the equally monochrome Ingrid Bergman. Glen, in his sickly state, had wanted to watch a nice, heart-warming movie, and so he and his mother had curled up on the sofa to watch Casablanca together, a film that they both loved. It had just reached the climactic moment, where the lovers realised they could never be together, when Jennifer's phone began to ring loudly from her bag. Glen paused the video and lay his head in the spot his mother had just vacated. Still sniffing and dabbing at her eyes, Jennifer answered.

"Hello?"

"I heard about Liza."

"Glenda!"

Glen sat up, eyes wide. Jennifer smiled reassuringly at him, not wanting to worry him by suggesting that Glenda was using the same, petulant tone she had been last time.

"It was in the news. Do they know who did it?"

"No, they... the police think it might be a burglary gone wrong..." Jennifer fidgeted, pulling nervously at her skirt. Why was she nervous? Glenda was her daughter, damn it, worry and anger she was entitled to, but she shouldn't feel nervous. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Glenda, are you alright?"  
"I'm fine, Mom." Glenda's tone remained unchanged, she sounded happy, but... awkward. Jennifer, as a mother, was instantly suspicious.

"Is there anyone with you? Are you looking after yourself? No one's made you do anything, have they?"

"I'm fine, Mom. Some guy tried to make me smoke something but I told him to fuck off."

"Glenda!"

"Well I did."

"Hmm."

Silence. Jennifer was reluctant to break it. She flashed another reassuring smile at Glen, but she wasn't entirely sure what she needed to reassure him about.

"I'm not coming back, Mom. Not yet."

"Glenda... we miss you."

"I don't care." Glenda sniffed. "You didn't believe me about Liza, but now that's too late, huh? So I'm gonna say it again. I hate Neil. And I don't trust him. You're better off without him."

"No, Glenda." Jennifer barked, feeling anger bubble up inside her. She took a deep breath. She could not let herself give way to fury. She had to be calm, and measured. She wasn't that person any more. "I'm not leaving Neil. Not because you have some petty grudge."

"Is that it?"

"Yes."

Another determined pause. Jennifer waited for the explosion of fury, but it never came. There was a click, then the purring of a dead line. Jennifer paused for a moment, her eyes flicked to Glen.

"Well... if that's the way you see it, sweetie." She smiled, continuing to talk into her phone. "Alright. Love you, sweet heart." She returned her phone to her bag, and smiled at Glen, wrapping her arm around him.

"What did Glenda say, Mummy?"

"Oh she's... staying with her friend for a while longer."

"Oh..." Glen toyed with the remote, staring at the screen. "Will she ever come back?"

Jennifer thought for a moment, unsure. But then, hugging Glen tighter, she smiled, and took the remote from him, pushing the play button.

"I'm sure she will, sweetheart."

Across the road, Chucky clapped his hand on Glenda's shoulder.

"It's dinner-time, kid." He grinned, as she dropped the phone, still staring out of the window. "Then time for bed. After all, you got a big day ahead of yourself tomorrow." He cooed the word, mixing with the same manic, piercing laugh Glenda had heard the first night she found him. She giggled back as they went through to the kitchen, her eyes glinting with barely suppressed menace.


	12. Chapter 12

Chucky stared at the wall, white covered by a grey veil that descends over everything at 2 am. The glass bottle on the coffee table stood open, it's glinting amber contents significantly less than what they were an hour or so ago, when he'd finally given up on sleep, and the sharp cut glass beaker beside it had significantly more streaks. Chucky continued to stare at the wall, red sneakered feet up on the sofa. He wished he could take his shoes off. That was, oddly, one of the things he missed the most about being human. Having clothes permanently joined to your body had its pros and cons, but shoes... there was no greater release than getting home after a long day and taking your shoes off. It had been a long time since he'd been able to do that. Hell, at this point he wasn't even sure he had toes. He took another slow sip from his glass, having to hold it with both hands. He had long since gotten used to the burning, catching sensation of whisky hitting the back of the throat, so he remained still, and silent.

What was he worried about? Getting found out? They'd have to move those bodies soon, or else get the hell out of here before someone else came to snoop. Himself? Getting spotted, or hurt? Killed, even? Unlikely. At this point, he noted with a grim smile, death was more of an annoying setback than anything else. Glenda? Letting him down? Getting hurt? Maybe. Maybe it was too soon for her, but Chucky knew no other way to teach than to just let her do it. That was how he'd gotten where he was today. That was another thing that had been playing on his mind; did he want Glenda to be like this? Had he really helped her by letting her stay with him? He wasn't usually one for family bonding or emotional moments, but there was no way his life was ideal. Maybe a nine year old isn't exactly prepared for that decision. But none of that was really the thing that was sticking in his mind, the thing that kept him from sleeping. He knew what it was, but he kept overlooking it, preferring to think of other things. He couldn't deny it any more though. The thing that was worrying him... Tiffany.

Her name rolled around his head, twisting like smoke in sunlight, like barbed wire. He had loved her. She had been the only person he really loved, in the deepest sense of the word. It was not an ideal love; it was a destructive, passionate match of sin and virtue. They were so similar that they understood each other perfectly. They were so similar that they saw every flaw that they hated most about themselves. They were so similar that they each knew the way to most hurt the other. She would die for him, he would kill for her. That was how it was. But now... so much had changed. Neither of them were the people they once were, (literally, in fact,) and it was not embarrassment or attraction that made him worry. He felt contempt for her, and hatred that boiled and burnt inside him. It was the fact that he felt such seething hatred for someone he had once so admired that caused him anxiety. He had too much pride to lose his temper in front of her. She was different; anyone else he would have killed, but she wanted that. Wanted him to lose it so she could mock him.

He took another swig from his glass, throwing it into the fireplace.

"Fucking whore." He grumbled, covering his eyes with his hands, wishing he could go to sleep.

"Dad?" Glenda's voice was light and wavering as she stood, at the bottom of the stairs, what little light there was glinting on her round, plastic eyes. She'd stripped down to her once-white petticoat, and clutched her UnDeadTed to her chest. If it weren't for the blood stains, they would almost be cute.

"You should be in bed."

"I can't sleep." She whispered, edging closer to him. "Are you ok?"

"Huh? Yeah, I'm..." He shrugged, leaning back into the couch. "I'm fine. Just... couldn't sleep either."

Glenda shuffled over and clambered up onto the couch, sitting down between his feet and the window, looking over at the blacked out street. Chucky continued staring at the wall, chasing a circle of thoughts around his head, all of them overshadowed by Tiffany's manic, laughing face. After a while, he felt Glenda's feet nudge up against his. He looked down, to see her pressing the soles of her feet up against his, and looking at them quizzically.

"Our feet are almost the same size."

"Almost." Chucky agreed, letting his head fall back on the armrest, staring up at the ceiling.

"But mine are smaller."

"Yup."

There was a pause. Glenda tucked her legs up, drawing her feet away from her father, and staring at him, over her knees.

"I'm never going to grow up now, am I?"

Chucky looked up at her sharply, sitting up on his elbows. She wasn't emotional. She didn't look like she was upset, or distraught; she was staring at him with big, earnest eyes, daring him to tell the truth. He shrugged.

"Well... you will, mentally. But physically? I don't know... I guess I could put you in a more grown-up looking body, and that might make you upgrade biologically... maybe. It's never something I've had to consider before. We'll have to see."

She relaxed a little, smiling. He smiled back, sitting up a little more.

"Was that what was keeping you up?"

"No."

"Oh, right. Insomnia. That sucks." Chucky nodded, casting around. "Well we're both up. You wanna do something?"

"Don't mind." Glenda shrugged, but Chucky could see she was excited at the prospect. He ran a hand over his face, before grinning.

"How about I carry on telling you about when I was a kid?"

Glenda bounced in her seat, smiling widely as she shuffled closer to him.

"Alright... where was I?"

"You'd killed the professor guy."

"Right, yeah. So..." Chucky hopped down, crossing to the drinks cabinet and getting himself another glass, before pouring out some more whisky. "At this point I was... I guess about nine? I'd kind of lost track myself, but it must have been about there. And I ran all the way to Chicago, in case someone found out I'd killed him, but no one gave a shit. I set up a new routine, found a new gang. One of the guys was Eddie Kaputo. The first day I met him, he pulled a knife on me and told me to hand over anything valuable or he'd cut me to ribbons. I just laughed. He was taller than me and a bit stockier too, but I was just stood there, some pasty little kid with long hair, laughing at him. And he gets pissed, so he says again, "Hey kid, gimme all your stuff and get the fuck off my turf or I'm gonna cut you to shreds." And I just keep laughing. I point up at the wall behind him, and eventually, he looks. That's when I grab him by the throat and shove him up against the wall. He's completely off guard, drops the knife, staring down at me as he's struggling to breath, and I keep the pressure on him, and just say "I'm Charlie Ray, and I've been living out here since I slit my own Dad's neck. You really want to try your chances?"

"Then I let him drop, take the knife and walk off. It was three days later when I next saw him, waiting outside a sleazy diner for any left-overs. He comes towards me, and I think he's gonna start again, but he's smiling. He goes "Hey Chuck, I've been looking for you everywhere. I know a guy who needs a kid like you for a job, come on!" And he takes me to this bar, where this fat old guy looks at us both, and tells us if we can get in and out of some rich broad's house, we can take pretty much whatever we like. He just needed a note to be left there. So we did that job together, went off without a hitch. From then on, we were damn near inseparable."

"Did you ever fight?" Glenda asked, shuffling back into the couch.

"Not for a long time. From nine onwards, we stuck together. We did every job together, we killed together, we ate together. We covered each other's backs. We were the perfect duo. But then... it was about age sixteen that shit started going wrong. Eddie would spend a lot of the money he got on... uh... you know what a whore is?"

"A bad woman?"

"Yeah... sorta..." Chucky shifted under Glenda's innocent stare, wondering how he was going to work around this. "Well, Eddie spent his money on things he shouldn't have been doing, and, uh... then he started asking me to cover him for food and shit. Now, I didn't mind so much at first, but we'd discussed getting a permanent hideout, you know, somewhere off the streets. And he kept spending more and more money on shit he really shouldn't have been doing, so we had a major blow-out, I took my money and left him. I found myself a cheap, untraceable trailer, and a park that didn't care too much about book-keeping, which suited me fine. So I set up my life outta this trailer, keeping myself to myself, and then Eddie turns up."

Chucky remembered that day well. It had been a cold, wintery morning, the kind that seems reluctant to get going; sun slowly pushing through the grey mist, not really trying to succeed, but wanting to claim it had made an effort. Charlie Ray had grown up a little; no longer the scared, twisted little boy. By now, he was Chucky, and he had just woken up, head throbbing and snarling at him for daring to drink so much the night before. Feeling like his face was crumpling in on itself, he had decided that water would be the liquid of the day. He would bathe, drink water, and piss, until his system had been cleared a little, and only after a suitable rest period would he drink again. He had learned much in his near twenty years of life, and had seen first-hand the perils of alcohol, one too many times. He would not let it happen to himself, and so he made sure to live by the rule of "everything in moderation". Alcohol, for example. Fine every once in a while, even to the point of getting blind smashed and passing out. As long as it's not a regular thing, and you still have the sense to say "that as a bad idea", you're fine. Cigarettes... well, that wasn't really an issue; he couldn't afford them often. But sure, cigarettes, drugs, murder... it made him feel good, then they all had their individual versions of hang-overs, he could say "that was dumb" and leave off for a while. Every morning when he woke up, and every evening before he fell asleep, the vision of his father's booze-soaked, stinking face danced in front of his vision. "This is who I could become", Chucky reminded himself, daily. "This is who I mustn't become."

At twenty years old, Chucky had the build of a sprinter; lean, but muscular. This came through a life of sparse nutrition, but plenty of exercise. He had just gotten out of the shower, slipped on a pair of jeans, and was staring into the empty fridge (which seemed to be staring back with a slightly judgemental air, as if to say "well don't look at me, it's not my fault there's no food"), when there was a hammering on the door. This was... odd... he didn't get many visitors, and so he was somewhat cautious when he did open the door. There, beaming up at him, one hand on a ratty old back-pack, the other in his jeans pocket, stood Eddie.

"S'up, Chuck?"

"Eddie?" Chucky was reluctant to ask him inside. The last time they'd seen each other, Chucky hadn't exactly left much room for misunderstanding. And he had kind of pushed Eddie's whore down some stairs. Bitch had deserved it, as far as Chucky was concerned. He had been trying to have a civil-tempered debate, but she kept on winding Eddie up. So he'd shoved the whore down the stairs, threatened to shoot Eddie in the face, and then ended up knocking him unconscious on the bathroom floor. He felt he'd made his feelings pretty clear on the matter. "What are you doing here? How'd you find me?"

Eddie just grinned, pulling a newspaper out of his pack, and handing it to Chucky.

"Lakeshore? Robbing a safe and then stabbing the broad to death?" Eddie grinned up at him. "Knew it'd only be you."

"Goddamn it..." Chucky sighed, looking furtively around. The next trailer but one was awake, with the mother, a white-trash Dolly Parton wanna-be, and her daughter, about Chucky's age, having another screaming match. No one else was around, which was probably just as well.

"Let me in, Chuck." Eddie grinned. "I'm... I'm clean now, swear to god. No whores, no drugs... most of the time... c'mon, dude, I got a job lined up."

Chucky scrutinised him, not moving from the door frame. He ran a hand over his face, scratching his jaw. Even back then, Eddie had a certain charm about him. Chucky leant forward, jabbing a finger at Eddie's face, scowling.

"You gotta walk the line, this time. You cross me, and I'll cut you off like a dead weight. You got it?"

Eddie nodded, solemn for a moment, before laughing, and pushing past Chucky, into the trailer. He ran a hand over Chucky's face, playing camp because he knew it annoyed him, fiddling with his hair.

"Thanks, pudd'n. You know, you need a haircut, or it'll lose it's lovely shine."

"Fuck off." Chucky batted his hand away, grudgingly smiling. "You been here five minutes, you're already trying to wind me up."

"I can't help it, Charle-th." Eddie lisped, batting his eyelashes as he loped into the trailer and threw himself onto the couch. "I ju-th-t love your gleaming red hair. It dazzles me, Charle-th."

"Shit, everyone on the lot's gonna think we're queer." Chucky growled, but only half seriously. He allowed himself a weary smile, and shut the trailer door, eager to hear about Eddie's job.

Sat in Jeremy Trebeck's executive mansion, Chucky suddenly felt longing. Those were easier days. He was young and dumb, sure, but he had a handle on things. It was back before he had been fucked over by everyone he'd ever trusted. He looked at Glenda, who was watching him expectantly and clutching UnDeadTed tight.

"So Eddie moved in with you?"

"Yeah. He kept finding jobs, and we kept it together pretty well."

"So then what happened?"

"It went to shit." Chucky shrugged. "By this point, I'd started talking to a guy named John, who knew a lot about voodoo."

"What's voodoo?"

"It's... it's a religion. It's all about life and death and magic. It's what I used to get us these bodies."

"Can you teach me?"

"Maybe, one day. But it's not important right now. See, up until that point, I'd never actually been caught for a murder. I'd strangled a couple of people, but a lot more I'd used to try out some of the stuff John had been teaching me. So "The Lakeshore Strangler" had gotten a reputation, but the police had nothing to pin it on me. Then, a couple of years after I started living in the trailer with Eddie... must have been about twenty two, I guess, I got caught breaking into some guy's house. The police were convinced that they could pin the killings on me, but they didn't have anything concrete, so after a couple of months in prison for conspiring to rob the joint, I got back out and went back to the trailer. And that was when everything went wrong..."

Chucky checked himself, shaking his head.

"I shouldn't be telling you all this. You should go to sleep."

"Nu-uh." Glenda shuffled closer, crossing her legs. "I want to hear."

Chucky thought for a moment, before eventually sighing. "Fine. The night I got back, Eddie took me out to this bar. Not far from the trailer park, a total dive, but it had good music, good beer, and one other thing."

"What?" Glenda's eyes sparkled with anticipation. This was officially the best story ever.

Chucky just smirked, slightly lost in the memory, this being the first time in years he'd really let himself think about it. "It was where I met your mother."


	13. Chapter 13

"I'd just got out of the joint." Chucky continued, pouring himself another drink, while Glenda lay down on the couch, resting her head as close to his leg as she dared. "And I got back to the trailer at about seven in the evening. The first thing Eddie did when I got through the door was throw a clean pair of pants at me and tell me to clean up. He said he'd been waiting a while for me to get out, an' we had a lot to talk about. He also said he had someone he wanted me to meet." He'd long since learned not to ask questions when Eddie got an idea in his head. He'd never give a useful answer, so it was quicker to go along with it, Let Eddie explain, then punch his lights out and tell him he was a stupid jack-off. That was how they worked, as a partnership.

"So Eddie takes me down to this seedy dive about a mile or so from the trailer park, finds us a booth and a bottle of beer each, and starts talking to me about a couple of jobs, nothing big. Then this woman comes over to us..." This woman was tall, although that could be attributed to the stilettos, curvy, though that could be attributed to the corset, and blonde, although that was definitely not natural. But it had been a while since Chucky had been so interested in a woman. He'd had girls; he'd had women, sure. But recently, he'd been more concerned with the jobs at hand, very aware that Eddie could use anything as a reason to stagger back to the whorehouse, and not wanting to give him that opportunity.

They had been mid conversation when the woman had strutted over to them, sat in Eddie's lap and started kissing him. Chucky, wondering whether he'd been locked up longer than he realised, sat in stunned silence for a moment. Eddie and the unnamed blonde kept on going. Chucky noted his empty beer, reached over the table and took a drink from Eddie's. Then, he held the empty bottle out from the table and dropped it, the smash cutting through the grainy jukebox, and causing the blonde to jump away from Eddie in shock.

"Do you mind, bitch?"

"Well that's just fuckin' rude." The blonde gasped, eyes narrowing.

"Calm down, I wasn't talking to you." Chucky snapped, before glaring at Eddie, leaning back with the beer he had decided Eddie no longer deserved. Eddie, to his credit, flashed an apologetic smile, the same kind of face a pack dog makes when the Alpha snaps him back in line.

"Chuck, this is who I wanted to introduce you to. Tiff, this is Chucky Ray, he's a friend."

"So you're the smart one?" Tiffany smiled wickedly, extending her hand. Chucky gave her a long hard stare, before shaking her hand.

"I'm the one who tries to keep the bozo out of trouble, which ain't an easy job." Chucky raised an eyebrow at Eddie, casting glances at both of them.

"Chuck, I swear, it's legit. She's my girl. She lives in the trailer a couple down from us."

That was why she looked familiar then.  
"Oh, the one with the old bitch yelling me awake every morning?"

"Yeah." Tiffany smiled, without batting an eyelid. "Mom's a cranky old fucker."

Chucky watched her a moment more, before noting the wry sparkle in her eye, and laughing. He liked this girl.

"Alright, so if you ain't a whore, why the fuck are you hanging around with this shit-for-brains?"

"He's cute." Tiffany shrugged, stroking Eddie's hair. "In a... brain-dead sort of way. Plus, I got a thing for bad guys. It's kind of romantic."

They had sat, talked and planned all evening, not about anything important, but Chucky felt he already knew Tiffany quite well.

"So... how did... you end up with her?" Glenda mumbled, between yawns. Chucky scratched his chin, smiling.

"That actually happened a couple of months later... Eddie and Tiff had been getting together and breaking up constantly; I shoulda really taken that as a warning sign, but I guess I was a bit dumb back then... Eddie had been gone all day, and I went down to the bar in the evening, looking for him. Tiff came in, all upset because she hadn't seen him either, and her Mom had been yelling at her all day. She was really in a bad place, so we listened to the band playing at the bar, had a couple of drinks, and talked about shit. Where we came from, what we liked, what our families were..."

Tiff had been the first to share, of course. She had mentioned her father being a total deadbeat who had left them in the trailer shortly after Tiff turned five. Her Mom had always been possessive, had barely let her daughter do anything, and had thrown empty gin bottles at her every time they argued. Chucky could relate. It had been Tiff's slightly drunken tears that had made Chucky mention his father. Maybe to make her stop crying, maybe because he finally felt like someone would get it. And she had gotten it. They had carried on sharing, and drinking, into the early hours of the morning. Chucky had then helped her stagger back to her trailer, and through the door. She had just closed the door, and Chucky had turned to go back to his own trailer, when a loud smashing of glass and a scream resounded from Tiffany's trailer.

"I heard glass breaking in the trailer, and Tiff screaming. So I ran back to see what had happened, and Tiff was lying on the floor, staring up at me, tears in her eyes, blood all down her face. And there, up the other end of the trailer, stands this vicious old hag, Tiff's mother, all bloated and grey-lookin'. And she's got the most hideous scowl on her face. She goes, "Who the fuck is this? Another one of your Johns, slut?" And I didn't appreciate her talking to Tiff like that, and I certainly wasn't gonna let her get away with talking to me with such a fucked up scowl on her face."

Chucky had been shocked, but he had felt the spark of fury in his gut, the familiar warmth, and slow spread of yearning, twisted desire to cause pain. He had stepped in front of Tiffany, who was slowly pulling herself to her feet, blood still trickling down from where the bottle had hit her on the head.

"What the fuck do you want?" The old crone had hissed at him, taking a long drag on a cigarette.

"I'm just here to get your daughter out of this shit-hole." Chucky had spoken calmly, but his eyes shone like fire, daring her to challenge him.

"Yeah? Fucking take her. The bitch doesn't learn; she's no good to anyone." Tiff's mother had turned her back on them, getting another bottle from the cupboard. "You can raise a girl how you like, but if she doesn't learn, then she's certainly got nothing to teach."

"Think you're so fucking wise." Tiffany had spat from behind Chucky, glaring defiantly at her mother.

"I'm the wisest person you'll ever fucking meet, trailer trash. You ever want to get outta this life, you're gonna be living by what I told you long after I'm dead." The woman had unscrewed the bottle, and was staring at Chucky. "Well? Take her, if you're going, you ugly little shit."

Chucky smiled at Glenda, who was gazing up at him with sleepy eyes.

"I killed her. Everything about her was repulsive; it was like seeing my dad all over again. In one quick movement, I jumped at her, pushing her down onto the floor. I grabbed her cigarette and burnt it out in her left eye. I wanted to see her in as much pain as possible. I wrapped one hand around her throat, pressing into her windpipe so she couldn't scream, took the bottle off her, and smashed it on her head. Then I kept on stabbing her with it, watching as the blood spurted out of her. I could barely hear her screaming over Tiff laughing. She was fucking manic, grinning and screaming "Kill her, Chuck, kill her!" And then she grabs a knife off the counter and starts stabbing her in the face, staring at the bloody screaming mess that used to be her mother. When the old crone finally dies, she stands up and backs off. I stand up, and she looks at me, really looks at me, and goes "No one's ever killed for me before". So I wipe the blood off her face, and I kiss her."

Glenda's eyes were wide, staring up; hanging on her father's every word. Slowly, a sleepy smile spread across her face as she wriggled deeper into the couch cushions.

"That's so romantic..." She muttered, falling asleep. Chucky smiled to himself, knocking back the rest of his drink, before shuffling so he was more comfortable, closing his eyes. He'd let himself forget so much stuff, take so many details for granted. That was how they'd been, when they were happy. Killing for each other, crimes committed in acts of passion. Now, he wouldn't kill anyone for Tiff. Hell, he wouldn't spit in her mouth if her teeth were on fire. Piss, maybe. His eyes snapped open as he felt Glenda roll over and clutch his hand in her sleep. He tried to pull away, but she gripped tighter and mumbled something, so he sat there and let her sleep, closing his eyes and letting himself sleep too. He hoped the plan would go off fine. He couldn't bank on it, and he wouldn't dare let himself be complacent in the idea that it would, but he could do with getting to know this girl better.


	14. Chapter 14

Jennifer slowly opened her eyes, light pinching her skin as it crept around the edges of the dark curtains and up to the spacious white bed. She looked up at Neil, who lay higher on the pillows than her, perfectly still. She snuggled into his chest, enjoying the rare moment of total silence. Glen, starting to get over his shock and now more preoccupied on illness, had allowed her to sleep upstairs with Neil for the night.

She looked around the room, her eyes lighting on the sleek, executive furniture. Everything with Neil was, to use a heavy handed metaphor, black and white. White sheet covers, black drawers. Black wardrobe, white carpet. White shirt, black suit. And that was how she saw things. There was good, and there was bad. Sometimes, you had to do bad things to get to the good, but ultimately, there were only those two options. She had always felt that way, and, now she had firmly categorised murder as a totally bad thing, she was starting to live that way. She hugged Neil tighter, resting her face against his ribs, feeling him breathe. Calm. Still. Something she could have, now she was Jennifer. Something Tiffany could never have had.

Neil stretched, blinking as he rubbed his eyes. He looked down at her and smiled, stroking her hair.

"Morning."

"Morning." She smiled, sitting up on her elbows.

"What time is it?"

She reached over to the clock, lifting it so she could see.

"Seven o'clock on a Saturday."

"Urgh." Neil groaned, grabbing Jennifer and pulling her closer, nuzzling his head into her shoulder. "Nope. Back to bed. No getting up now."

"Neil." She giggled, pushing him away. "No, come on. Glen's probably already up." Neil pouted at her and gave her his biggest puppy-dog eyes, but she simply stuck her tongue out at him and pushed away the duvet, her white nightdress falling down to her knees. "I'm going to have a shower."

"Can I come too?" Neil grinned, wiggling his eyebrows, but she just laughed, ran a hand through her hair, and left. Neil sighed, sat up, and ran a hand over his face, preparing himself for the mental struggle that was leaving the bed sheets. But eventually, he forced himself to his feet and pulled on his dressing gown (pin-striped. A gag gift from Jennifer). It was his day off, and he had decided, with God as his witness, he would not get dressed today.

A bright ringing emanated from the small pile in the corner that consisted of Jennifer's clothes. Funny, smart, sexy... Jennifer was many things, but tidy, he had learned, was not one of them. He reached into the pile, and found Jennifer's jeans, before retrieving the phone.

"Ms Tilly's phone." He answered, suspicious of the unknown number.

"Hey." The voice was male, and not a familiar one. "This is, uh, Sergeant Crocker. Is Ms Tilly available?"

"Not right now."

"Well, could you pass on the message that her house is no longer a crime scene, but does require further investigation? She can come back today, between twelve and one, to retrieve any possessions or amenities she'll need over the next week."

"Ok, I'll do that, thank you." Neil sighed, rubbed his eyes, and hung up the phone, before grudgingly grabbing some trousers from his chest of drawers. He had a feeling today would not be the ideal day off he had imagined.

Jennifer grabbed her handbag and got out of the car, combing her hair out of her face with her fingernails.

"You boys stay right here." She smiled at Neil, in the driver's seat, and Glen, in the back. "I'm going to bring down some old suitcases, and pack bags for both of us. Shouldn't take more than five minutes."

"Mummy, are you sure you don't want help?"

"Don't worry, sweetface, I'll be fine." She smiled at her son, before blowing him a kiss and walking into the eerily still Beverly Hills villa. She didn't want Glen going into the house, until she knew for sure he wouldn't see anything that would set off another attack. She walked through the door, suddenly hit with all the smells of "home" that she'd missed, but also with cleansers and detergents. Something wasn't right. If they'd cleaned up the crime scene already, why was the house needed for further investigation? She'd tried redialling the number Neil had taken the message from, but there had been no answer. Wrinkling her nose, she dropped her handbag by the foot of the stairs and climbed to the attic. She wanted to get this sorted as soon as possible.

In the car, Neil drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel, glancing up at the rear view mirror to catch sight of Glen. Glen was staring absently out of the window, face pinched in deep thought.

"You ok, Glen?"

His head snapped around, starting guiltily and smiling.

"Yes."

"Get a good night's sleep?"

"Yes, thank you. I feel much better now."

"Good..." Neil stared out at the street for a moment, before shuffling around in his seat, looking over the shoulder. "Hey, Glen, do you think we get on well?"

"Um... yes?" Glen was slightly startled by this, but then nodded, more certain. "Yes, I think we do."

"Cool. Listen, I wanted to ask you... Because, I like you a lot, and I love your Mom, you know that, right?" Glen nodded again, grey-green eyes intent on Neil. "I was thinking, after all this calms down again..."

At that moment, Neil's phone buzzed angrily in his pocket. He shook his head, and removed his phone. A text from Jennifer lit up the screen, asking simply "Suitcases harder to get downstairs than I thought. Could you both come help me? "

Neil put his phone back in his pocket, all resolve gone. Glen looked at him, wide, round, innocent eyes unfazed.

"What were you going to say?"

"Um... nothing. We'll pick it up later. Your mom needs help with the suitcases, come on."

Jennifer had finally reached the attic, which had, she now remembered, been wrecked once more by Glenda. Sighing, she stared around in the gloom, trying to make distinct shapes out of the blobby piles. It was dark... the windows had been blocked. She growled, and fumbled for the light switch, running both hands over the wall. Eventually, she found it, before cursing and blinking as she turned around, due to the artificial light momentarily killing her vision. When she turned around, she let out a startled yelp of a scream, jumping backwards slightly. She stared up, horrified, as the blonde doll with a scar on her forehead and lipstick smudged across her chest swung by the neck from the ceiling. The dry brown rope rubbed against the faux leather biker's jacket, the white poly-cotton wedding dress catching in the slight breeze. The doll swung slowly around, vacant green eyes staring at her from behind her messed up blonde hair. She stared up at it, torn between moving closer, out of curiosity, and running away out of fear. For a moment, which could have been a second or a minute, she found herself staring up at the hanging doll, slowly feeling drawn towards it. She wanted to hold it tight. She wanted to hold it so tight it dissolved into her body. Here, for the first time, she was facing the embodiment of the "her" she didn't want to be. She was Jennifer, but she was looking at Tiffany. Cautiously, staring up, she stepped towards it...

"Jennifer?" Neil's voice cut through the silence, pulling Jennifer back into the present. No. This was wrong. Her stomach felt like someone had filled it with cold cement, and it was all she could do not to fall down where she stood. One word flashed through her mind, filling her with more horror than any other concept, threat or idea. One word, which filled her nightmares, which she had folded and crushed and tried to lock away, but now was the only word in her mind.

"Jennifer, are you ok?"

Chucky.

"Neil!" Jennifer ran down the stairs, only to see Neil and Glen climbing up to find her, confused and slightly worried looks on their faces.

"Is everything ok, Jen?"

"Mommy?"

She looked down at Glen's face, innocent and unsuspecting. Again, she felt the space between heartbeats stretching out much longer than they should be. She couldn't lose him. She couldn't lose him physically or mentally. She couldn't...

"We need to get out of here." She managed to choke, frightened tears creeping into her eyes. "Now." She pushed past them, grabbing Glen's hand and sweeping him into a hug, carrying him as she stumbled down the stairs, reaching the front door. Her bag had gone. She tried to open the door, but it was locked, and something had been jammed in the keyhole. She leant against it with all her might, gasping. "Neil, we need to get out, now!"

"Jennifer..." Neil was looking genuinely worried now. "What is it?"

She turned to him, leaning heavily against the door, eyes wet, and face a vision of helplessness.  
"I'm sorry Neil. There's a lot I've never told you... and if we don't get out of here soon, I might never get a chance to." She wiped her eyes, picking up Glen again. "Back door. Quickly." She strode through to the kitchen, eyes daring all over the room. Then she stopped dead. The back door had a bookcase and a desk in front of it, firmly barricading them in.

"Mommy?" There was worry in Glen's voice too, and as they looked at each other, there was understanding. The thing they both feared, and that they both had always felt that they would eventually have to face.

"I'm sorry, sweetie."

"Look." Neil pushed past them, and started pulling the desk out of the way. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm going to get you two out of here... so I can get some sense out of you."

"Neil..." Jennifer smiled, her heart lifting as she saw her knight in shining armour in action, before instantly feeling the dread pool in beneath it. She only saw the shady figure on the bookcase a second before Neil did, which gave the figure a second and a half to make it's move. None of them got a clear view of the dark, short thing; Neil had no time to register what he saw before the figure had leapt onto his shoulders and smashed his head against the bookshelf, making him fall unconscious. Jennifer and Glen saw nothing, as they had equally little time to make sense of things. Jennifer felt a tripwire pull beneath her, making her fall forward and drop Glen. Another figure was on her back before she could move, and the last thing she saw was the first shady figure tackle Glen to the ground, before she felt sharp, tiny pinpricks dig into the back of her scalp, and forcefully throw her head against the floor. Then, it was blackness.

Head trauma is an interesting injury to deliver a person; be too forceful and your victim will be too brain-damaged to understand anything that follows. Deliver too little and they will only be momentarily dazed. It was with a precision only acquired through years of practice, then, that Jennifer, Glen and Neil all, blearily, opened their eyes again, several hours later, tied and bound to the wooden chairs that sat around the scrubbed wood kitchen table. As her focus returned, Jennifer could see Glen had blood trickling down from an injury hidden somewhere in his hair, which was clumped together, matted with blood. Neil, she could also see, had a black eye and a cut on his cheek. She could feel the rough rope bonds digging into her hands, pain searing through her arms as the chair refused to allow her to sit comfortably. She could taste blood, and coughed, spitting onto the table, the glob of vicious red shining in the harsh electric light. The smell of disinfected house mingled with the smell of sweat and blood. She found herself crying as she looked at Neil and Glen, who were approaching consciousness. This was her fault. It had to be her fault. She lived a lie, and now she was paying the price.

"F...Fuck." She muttered, spitting again as blood pooled in her mouth "Fuck!"

"Not in front of the children, please." A voice, gnarled and twisted, lilted from the doorway behind her, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Glen's eyes widened, tears of horror pooling as he gazed imploringly at his mother. The voice was followed by that hideously, terrifyingly familiar laugh. "After all, you were so keen to set a good example."


	15. Chapter 15

**Bing. This is your author speaking, just wanting to give you all a little advanced warning that this next period of our journey could become a little turbulent, leading to scenes of a violent nature. Please buckle your seatbelts and hold on tight. On a lighter note, we will soon be arriving at our final destination, so just make it through this next leg or our journey and you should be fine. Thank you for reading with MimmFF. Bong.**

On hearing the voice, that oh so familiar voice that had ruled their nightmaresGlen and Jennifer began shouting and struggling, giving way to fear and anger. Inside Jennifer's mind, she could hear herself shouting. She knew better than to lose check of her emotions in a situation like this. It was all about making your opponent doubt who was in charge of the situation. She knew this. But she couldn't help screaming.

The voice spoke again, forceful, this time, and underline by the act of throwing a knife at the wall in front of them, where it stuck fast.

"Shut up. I've got a lot to say."

"Who are you?" Neil spoke, groggy, but determined. He was confused, scared and, most of all, outraged. He may not have been the toughest guy around, but he'd be damned if he was going to sit back and just let Jennifer and Glen be treated like this. "Why are you doing this? You want money?"

The voice just laughed, before the body accompanying it finally stepped into their limited field of vision.

"Don't insult me. I just want what's rightfully mine."

Neil had, as a child, heard his mother play him a piece of music by a composer called Aram Khachaturyan. It was called "Masquerade", and it had scared him. The manic, ominous violins had made him tense, and the emotions they caused in him had confused his young mind, bringing him to tears. Now, as he sat here, tied to a dining room chair, bruised and beaten, he saw what he could only describe as the physical incarnation of those feelings. The way the light shone on the monstrosity's skin, bouncing off the clean plastic, before plunging into dark red scars that tore through his face, and pooling in the hollows around his brilliant blue eyes, which shone like cold steel under the kitchen light. The way he stood, head high, but shoulders slightly slumped like a proud convict bearing the weight of his crimes. The way his smile made his face contort, looking like the cat that had cornered its' prey. The way he walked, quickly but deliberately across the kitchen, as though he knew he was in complete control of them. Neil gaped at the horrifying figure, momentarily losing all resolve. This was an abomination. A thing that should not be alive.

Jennifer bit her lip and inhaled sharply to keep herself from crying. Glen fell silent, but big teardrops continued to run down his pale white cheeks. Chucky merely grinned.

"Hey, kid. Tiff. Long time, no see."

"What do you want from me?" Jennifer spoke slowly, trying hard to keep her voice level, but hearing it catch in her throat. Chucky pulled over the fourth chair, and used it to clamber up onto the table. He walked up to her slowly, grabbing her chin, and staring straight into her eyes. His face was set, mildly hinting at the anger that brewed up inside him, just as she remembered. But, as she tensed, waiting for pain, he just smirked at her and turned away. She almost felt insulted, the way he sat down in the middle of the table and took a pack of cookies from his overalls, eating one, unnerved her all the more. What game was he playing?

"What do you want?" She repeated, emotion a lot more prominent as she half shouted, half sobbed. Chucky raised an eyebrow at her, before turning to Glen.

"Want a cookie?"

Glen was still crying, too terrified to actually take in what was happening, too concerned with what he was sure was going to happen.

"You stay away from him!" Neil barked, causing Chucky to turn his head a little further than would be humanly possible, and fix Neil with an icy glare.

"And who the fuck are you?"

Neil fell silent, a dark expression taking hold of him.

"You come anywhere near that boy..." he repeated, anger taking hold over fear. Chucky turned around fully, grabbed a cookie from the pack and crammed it into Neil's mouth, not so hard that he would choke, but hard enough that he would shut up.

"Don't tell me how to do my job. And calm down, shmucko. I know who you are. You're Neil Cierra, age thirty, living at number seventeen of the executive district. You work as a sales executive for Grandma's Homemade Corporation, right?" Chucky grinned, as shock danced through the eyes of everyone present. "I know a lot about you. I know you drive a BMW S series. I know you like golf, if the clubs in your car are anything to go by. I know you're sleeping with... Jennifer, is it?" He shot a condescending smile at Jennifer, who fell silent. "And I know you go to a woman who lives on Santa Monica Boulevard every Thursday afternoon." He paused. Jennifer was watching Neil carefully now.

"Neil?"

"But." Chucky started eating another cookie. "That's none of my fucking business now, is it? I just came here for a catch up. How are you, Glen?"

"I... I..." Glen sniffed, face now completely white. "Um..."

"How's school?"

"G... good?" He sniffed, confusion taking hold.

"You getting good grades?"

"Stop talking to him!" Jennifer snapped, unable to take any more. "Why won't you do it? Kill us, if you're going to!"

"Jesus Christ, you're a mouthy bitch." Chucky sneered. "Aren't I allowed to talk to him? After all..." He was staring straight into her eyes now, a vicious smile on his lips. "He is my only son."

The silence was intense. The words seemed to fall onto the table, hissing and writhing like snakes, everyone shocked.

"Isn't that right, pookie?" Chucky grinned, hopping down from the table, and retrieving his knife from the wall. He grinned up at Neil, who was still glaring at him. "Did she not tell you?"

Silence. Chucky was having so much fun now, it was almost criminal. Well... it probably was; now he thought about it. It had been a long while since he'd really toyed with anyone like this. After all, sex was great, but sometimes you want a little foreplay. He smirked, shrugging, and leaning against the wall.

"I'm sure she meant to. Oh, hey, while we're on the subject of people lying, I got to introduce you to someone." Chucky whistled, and in through the kitchen door walked a doll, a little shorter than Chucky, with auburn ringlets and a manic smirk, clutching an ugly black teddy bear. "She's a brilliant little actress."

"Is this it?" Jennifer sniffed, staring straight at the table. Her tone was menacingly low, and she found herself struggling to keep from crying. "You did all this so you could humiliate me and introduce me to your new skank?"

"Mummy..." Glen had stopped crying, though his eyes were still wet.

"Jennifer, what is this?" Neil spoke over him, not removing his eyes from Chucky. "What's going on, how do you know this... this thing?"

"Mummy..."

"End it." Jennifer yelled, still staring at the table, eyes closed, tears dripping down her nose.

"Jennifer, what's going on?"

"Just fucking end it!"

"Jennifer..."

"Kill us!"

"Why does he..."

"Use us, get your pervert kicks and go fuck with your fucking whore!"  
"What does he mean..."

"MUMMY!" Glen's wavering voice cut through theirs, causing both of them to look at him. The dolls were still smirking by the doorway, and Glen was staring at the girl doll as though he had seen a ghost. "It's Glenda."

Glenda took her cue to rest her teddy on the floor, climb up onto the table, patting Glen in the head, being sure to put pressure on the tender spot around the wound.

"Hey shitface." She giggled, wiping his tears away with the bloodied hand, before wiping it on her dress. "Comes to something when my own mother doesn't recognise me."  
"Glenda..." Jennifer could feel her heart shredding itself. The anger, the fear, the confusion... for a moment, it was all gone. All she was left with was a dull, aching sadness that shot right through her chest, up her throat, through her eyes and into her brain. She whispered, as she felt new tears rush to her eyes. "Why, Glenda? You were so pretty before..."

Glenda raised her arm, slapping her mother fully across the face.

"I was nothing, before. Just a fucking freak that you couldn't handle." She kicked Chucky's cookies to the floor, and bent over, reaching into her knee-high white sock. She pulled out a vegetable knife, pointing it at Neil. "You and Glen and this fucker were all too happy to dick around with your stupid lives, and leave me to rot in some institution hell-hole." She faced her mother. "Let's see if he still loves you when he knows what I know."

"Glenda..." her mother sniffed, earning herself another slap, and a knife pointed at her throat.

"Tell him."

Jennifer looked at Chucky, pleading. Chucky laughed, shrugging.

"Talented, ain't she?" His words set off fresh tears as she looked up at her daughter, seeing the unmistakeable bloodlust shine in her eyes. Chucky sighed. "You think I could stop her? Even if I wanted to? If I were you, I'd talk."

"Talk." Glenda repeated, her voice a low, raspy murmur. "Tell him."

"I'm... I'm not Jennifer Tilly." She exclaimed, Tears rolling down her face. "I was born Tiffany Carlisle. I was raised in a trailer park. Charles Lee Ray killed my mother when I was twenty two, and I married him ten years later. He killed me, and turned me into the killer Tiffany doll. I killed the real Jennifer Tilly and took her body and her life after she gave birth to twins... I'm sorry, for everything, I'm sorry!"

Glenda raised her eyebrows, and looked to her father. He shrugged.

"It'll do for now. Neily-boy, how you holding up?"

Neil was staring at the crying woman, a strange expression in his eyes.

"Jennifer?"

"I'm sorry." She sobbed, staring at him with rounded eyes. There was nothing but sincerity and sadness in her look. "I did a lot of bad things. But I'm not her any more, I'm not Tiffany Ray. I don't... I..." She trailed off, gazing at the table, shamed. The dolls smirked at each other, during the silence.

"I was going to ask you to marry me." Neil stated, discomfort evident in his faltering voice and furrowed brow. "Not that it matters, now. But I still love you, Jennifer. Even if you have a... history."

"Neil?" Jennifer looked at him, shocked. But the dolls had other ideas.

"Well, ain't that touching." Chucky sniffed, motioning for Glenda to get down from the table. She ran over to her bear, and clutched it to her chest, gazing up at the three terrified people with excitement in her eyes. Chucky wandered around the back of the table, behind Neil's chair. "Last time I said anything like that, the bitch left me, and shitface over there chopped me up with an axe. But who's counting?"

Chucky clambered onto the back of Neil's chair, putting all of his weight into swinging the chair backwards, so that Neil fell, hitting his knees on the table, his head on the floor, and crushing his hands. He yelled out in pain, but Chucky merely kicked him in the face.

"Shut up, stool pigeon. Glenda!"

Glenda leapt to attention, and helped her father drag the chair out of the kitchen, Neil writhing and struggling as his fractured fingers dragged across the floor.

"What are you doing? Neil! Neil!" Jennifer was horror-struck now, as Neil gazed up at her and mouthed "I love you" in between gasps of pain.

"Well now, I wouldn't want Glenda to feel like she had to choose between me and her step-dad." Chucky smiled, the savagery in his eyes making Glen cry again. "We're just going to spend some... quality time together."

And with that, they dragged Neil from the room, revelling in Jennifer and Glen's wails. Jennifer turned to Glen, wanting nothing more than to hug him, to hold him tight, nurse him better and tell him everything would be ok... she pulled more against the rope that was tying her, and felt it pulling into her wrists. Looking down at the table, she noticed, for the first time, that Glenda had dropped her knife. Somehow, in all the chaos, Glenda had dropped the knife she was pointing and left it on the table. Jennifer thought quickly. She didn't know how much time, or how many chances she'd have to escape. Carefully, spinning the blade around with her nose so that the handle pointed to Glen, she swung forward. Her feet, of course, were tied to the legs of the chair, but she could still shuffle towards Glen, if she put all her weight on her toes. Wincing as she held the knife between her teeth, she shuffled towards Glen. Slowly, not sure of what his mother had planned, Glen opened his mouth and took the handle of the blade. Jennifer looked Glen straight in the eye, and smiled.

"Ok, sweetie. I need you to drop the knife into my hands, ok? We've only got one shot at this, so when I say "go", you drop it, ok?"

"But what if..."

"Shhh..." She checked the doorway. A grainy recording of Blondie's "One Way or Another" had started up in the next room, covering Chucky and Glenda's voices. "Don't worry, sweetie. I'll catch it. Just give me a moment to focus, ok?"

"Ok..."

She took a deep breath. This was it. Back when she was Tiffany, she had had a lot of practice getting out of ropes and handcuffs... not necessarily in this sort of situation, but practice all the same. And she couldn't deny that part of her anymore; Chucky had come for Tiffany. This was a part of her, and she had to accept it if she was going to move on. Because, she reasoned, if she didn't accept it, she would get killed, and then she'd be "moving on" in a very different sense.

"One..." She whispered, looking over her shoulder, to fix Glen's gaze. "Two..." She licked her lips, her throat very dry. "Three..." Glen stared down at the miniscule gap between his mother's palms. If he did this wrong, the knife could fall, or worse, he could hurt her... "Go."

Glen leant forward as he opened his mouth again, letting the knife fall. It seemed to fall in slow motion, the sickening space between seconds widening under the pressure of the moment. Jennifer clapped her hands together...

"Ow, shit... It's ok, honey, I got it..." She cut her palm up, too. Tiffany could have done that no problem... she was old, clearly, and out of practice. She shook these thoughts from her head, and began fumbling with the knife.

In the next room, Chucky stood next to the old record player, nodding his head in time to the music. "Now this is real music." He said, watching as Glenda released Neil from the chair and wincing slightly as Neil fell face forwards, his knees and thigh-bones fractured. It had been Glenda's idea to break his legs while still in the chair, and Chucky was secretly glad that she'd never grow up, just because he hated to imagine what the psychopathic bitch would be like if she was PMS-ing. Chucky strolled forward, placing a foot on Neil's hands as he tried to struggle away. He emitted a grunt of pain.

"You like music, pretty boy?" Chucky continued to stand, putting the slightest amount of pressure on his hands, watching as Neil winced. The smile twisted and slithered across his face, just like it had so many times before. "I bet you do." He knew Neil couldn't answer. The blood streaming down his face suggested he was less than coherent, and the way he gasped and licked his lips suggested he was more preoccupied with breathing than speaking. But still Chucky sneered down at him. This man was, as he saw it, the epitome of everything he never could have been. But he wasted no time on sentimentality. As the song reached his favourite part, the meshing, bassy instrumental, Chucky leaned down, and pressed his knife into the side of Neil's face, slowly putting pressure on the blade, watching a dribble of blood form, from his temple to his jaw bone, trickling into his mouth and eyes.

"Dad!" Glenda stood, staring up at the record player as it stuck and skipped. Chucky leaned in closer, wanting to see the dull pain spark in Neil's eyes, before pulling the knife away, relishing in the wet gush as it cut him deeper.

"Here." Chucky wiped his knife clean on his overalls, and showed Glenda how to stop the record from skipping. With their backs to the kitchen, and so close to the noise, they couldn't hear the muffled cries of joy as mother and son threw their ropes to the floor and hugged each other, muffling brief tears of joy. Nor could they see the bleeding, battered Neil Cierra slowly, painstakingly drag himself towards the kitchen.


	16. Chapter 16

Glenda was having the time of her life. Or... afterlife, she supposed. She and her father had walked for ages and spent even longer readying everything, and now, the plan was going smoothly. There are some things a girl never forgets... her first proper birthday party, her first crush, her first rollercoaster... Glenda would never forget the looks on her family's faces as they saw her... the reflection of her knife in her mother's eyes... Neil lying on the living room floor, slowly bleeding into a coma.

She smiled as Chucky climbed up onto the dresser top next to her, and showed her how to work the record player. As he brushed up against her, she breathed in, and could smell the plastic, the blood, the mustiness... it was an oddly comforting smell, and she found herself getting lost in it, the music wrapping around her as he set the record playing again. She could see herself, floating on a blood red sea in a little wooden boat, just her and her dad and her teddy bear. That was all she needed... Suddenly, she was snapped from her trance by Chucky leaping down from the dresser.

"Shit, that Neily-boy's got spirit. He's gone through to the kitchen, come on." They followed the trail of blood through from where it stopped staining the carpet and started pooling on the stone tile. They stopped dead. Jennifer was kneeling down, cradling her lover's head, while Glen held his hand. They were clearly having an emotional moment. Chucky blinked. How the hell did they get loose?  
"Fuck..." Glenda whispered, answering her father's question as he followed her gaze to see her knife on the kitchen floor.

"Goddamnit, you keep hold of that UnDeadShit thing and you drop your knife?" Chucky exploded, making Jennifer and Glen gasp. They hadn't heard him before. Now they got up and ran. Neil let himself fall to the floor. Chucky stared at Glenda, angry.

"Well come on! Get your knife! And don't think you're getting off easy for this. I'll deal with you later."

Jennifer clutched Glen tight, and wept quietly as they crept through the house.

"There's nothing behind us, Mummy." He whispered, nuzzling her hair and digging his bony fingers into her shoulder. She sniffed, and darted quickly into the under-stairs utility cupboard. It was barely two feet across, and just as deep. Both of them could fit in, but very little else would. Perfect. Jennifer barricaded the door, and then rotated on the spot, unsure of what to do. She upturned a bucket and sat down, staring at the floor between her knees.

"Oh God..." she gasped, tears pooling in her eyes. "What are we going to do, Glen?"

"Mummy..." Glen was hesitant, but rested his hand on her shoulder. He spoke quietly, hoping that the walls were thick enough that he wouldn't be heard. "Mummy... We can escape him. We can! We did before."

"Oh, but I was a different person then..." She wailed, as quietly as her emotions would allow, running her fingers through her hair. "I'm not that person any more, I'm not, I'm not... Tiffany Ray killed him, not Jennifer..."

"But you are Tiffany, Mummy."

"No... I haven't been Tiffany for nine years, Glen..."

"Mummy." Glen stood in front of her, raising her head so that she was staring him in the eyes. He had never seen her look so scared... so weak... "You need to be strong. Tiffany gave Jennifer strength, and restarted her career. Jennifer gave Tiffany an outlet, a chance to channel all her anger. They're the same person. They're you."

Jennifer sniffed, a smile stretching across her lips as her son's words clicked in her mind. She dabbed her eyes, hugged him, kissed him on the cheek and stood. Glen watched silently as his mother closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and started looking for something to arm herself with.

"Glen, find something sharp. Or heavy. Or both. We're going to get that son of a bitch."

The house was dark, by now. Evening had crept in, and the street lights that managed to permeate the forcibly drawn curtains gave the house an angular, otherworldly quality, throwing unspecified areas into sharp relief, before they plunged back into shadow. Jennifer and Glen crept towards the front door, watching each other's backs and scanning the shadows. Jennifer, armed with an extension cable, a screwdriver and a fearsome imagination, was following Glen. His safety was her number one concern, and, as she looked at him, she was worried. He was carrying Glenda's old hockey stick, visibly shaking, and looking for all the world like he was about to pass out. She knew he could kill, if seriously pushed... she could remember standing with him, as she had lifted Chucky's dismembered corpse into the dumpster, the wind cutting through her thin hospital gown, not making eye contact with the stoners and whores that were waiting for free meds around the back of the hospital. He had looked so small, and fragile. And she had promised him it would never happen again. Now, as he looked up at the front door with wide, watery eyes, she wanted so badly to be able to keep her promise.

"Glen?" She whispered, but his reply was lost as a scream of rage cut through the room, and Jennifer felt a heavy, blunt force to the back of her knees. She fell forward, but as soon as she hit the floor, she was ready. She flipped onto her front, and jabbed with the screwdriver, ramming into the belly of her attacker. Chucky reeled and yelled in pain, but Jennifer was still slightly shaken. His eyes... she could never have forgotten his piercing, cold eyes, but somehow, seeing them for real after all these years, they still sent shivers through her. Glen yelled behind her, and she whipped around to see him flat on the floor, arms extended and holding Glenda by the neck as she thrashed and kicked. Jennifer struggled to her feet, using the blocky end of the extension lead to knock the two apart. Glen leapt up in an instant, scrambling for the hockey stick. Glenda staggered slightly, gazing up at her mother with round, hurt eyes. She had her teddy bear stuffed tightly into one of the pockets on the front of her dress, and looked so feeble and lonely.

"You... hit me..."

"I..." She was flooded with remorse, but only for a moment. "You're not my daughter any more."

"Bitch." Glenda grinned, as Chucky leapt from the darkness, the bloodied screwdriver in his hands, pointing at her.

"Come on, Tiff, you know better than that." Chucky laughed, "Stabbing me in the stomach? Not gonna work."

Glen shuffled forward, raising the hockey stick above his head, but Chucky was too quick. He lunged forward, gouging a hole in Glen's arm. Glen yelled out in pain and fell, but Jennifer managed to sweep him up into her arms.

"Oh, Mom." Glenda giggled. "Don't you want to play?"

"No." Jennifer spat, before kicking chucky in the face and knocking him off his feet. "And my name's Jennifer!" She ran to the back door, breathing quickly, holding Glen close and wondering exactly what she planned to do next. She put Glen down by the door, and began scratching at the blockade in front of the door, using all her strength, but it wasn't enough.

"Hey!" She turned slowly to face him, her legs heavy, her head swimming. He approached her with a horrible, vicious glint in his eye, Glenda practically jumping for joy behind him as she imagined her mother's blood spilling all over the carpet. What was that? Poetic symmetry? Irony? Or just Charles Lee Ray fucking up another person's life? Jennifer set her jaw, suppressing the tears and screams that were fighting to come out.

"Go on then. This is what it's all about, right? Torment and kill. That's all you ever do, all you can ever do."

"And damn if I ain't good at it." Chucky laughed, gripping his knife tightly. "But hey, you weren't so bad, I guess. I'll do you a decency and make it quick and painless. Well... I'll try to, anyway."

"Do it, Dad..." she could hear Glenda whispering, as excited as most children would get about Disney world. "Kill her! Kill her!"

Glen was close to fainting. Chucky was now less than a foot away from her. She felt so hopeless. So utterly hopeless and alone.

"Get down." He commanded, and she almost fell to the floor, cursing herself. He walked slowly, treading on her fingers, and eventually stopping, crouched over her, one foot on either side of her neck. "So this is it."

"This is it." She managed to choke, staring up at him with sad but otherwise empty eyes. She had fought. But she had no escape.

"You did good." Chucky looked at her, and she got the feeling this was the first time he'd paid any real attention to her in this new body. "Any... last words?"

"Jennifer!" The word was laboured, but clear. She looked to her right, and saw Neil, weary and haggard, but alive, crawling towards them. He sent a knife skidding across the floor to her, and she caught it, as if she'd had time to prepare. Maybe this was what they called "being on the same wavelength" as someone. Before Chucky could react, she had already plunged the knife into his heart. "It's over."

He staggered off her, eyes wide, more with surprise than anything, as he felt the familiar creeping sensation of numbness, as blood seeped from his chest, and he realised, once again, that he was dying.

"Daddy!" Glenda gasped, reeling. She felt like a trapdoor had opened up beneath herself and, although she knew she was still standing there, untouched, she wanted to scream, because the falling wouldn't stopped. She ran over to him, kneeling at his head. "Daddy! What... what do I do? I don't..." She found herself crying. Big, hot tears were rolling down her face, without so much as a warning trigger. Chucky croaked something, but she couldn't hear him. "I... I don't..."

With a deep, shuddering breath, he reached out his arms, one hand grabbing UnDeadTed, the other at her shoulder. She nodded, understanding, and sat him up slightly. She was careful, more careful than she'd ever been in her life, not wanting to cause him any pain.

"Kid..." He rasped into her ear, breath rattling and bubbling like a burst air pipe going up through a swamp. "Doesn't look like I'm gonna make it..." He heaved another wheezy breath, his hands clenching into fists, one gripping her shoulder, the other nearly crushing UnDeadTed's face.

"Daddy... no, you can't..."  
"Sorry, kid..." He wheezed, eyes closed. "I want you to know... Glenda... I'm proud of you."

The words fell into Glenda's mind, numbing the panic and the fury, sending everything into slow motion. There was nothing for them to connect to. Pride? She didn't care about that any more. If she lost him... she would lose everything. The gnawing monsters of fear and oppression rose into her brain once more, smothering any light those words could have given off.

"Daddy... don't go... I can't... I'm not..."

"Shhh..." He managed, before convulsing and coughing. "You're a natural. You... can do anything... I'm sorry we didn't get... more time together..." he trailed off, mumbling something. His eyes screwed shut in pain, his fingers still tightly gripping her and UnDeadTed, his lips moving... but no sound was coming out. A dull roar was rushing through Glenda's ears, making it impossible to think straight.

"I can't hear you, daddy! Daddy, what do you... I..."

He stopped mumbling and, with a sudden choking spasm, he died. The roaring grew louder, and Glenda realised it was the wind, as thunder ripped through the room, big, heavy raindrops pelting the windows. His fingers loosened. His arms fell to his sides. Glenda rested him on the floor, tears coming thick and fast. On top of the thunder and the wind, a lost, wailing moan crept into the room from somewhere unknown. Glenda curled up next to her father, wishing all the noise would go away. She wanted to stop, all of it should stop, but it wouldn't, and no one would listen to her... she realised that the wailing was coming from her...

"Come on." The voice was shaken, but familiar. It came from somewhere behind her. With a dull, emotionless sense of duty, she realised it was her mother speaking. Her mother, who she had come here to kill. She stood, shaky and unstable, but she stood. Jennifer saw Glenda, her sad, lost little girl, skin as pale as milk, eyes round and filled with tears, spit pooling in her wailing jaw... such a lost, pathetic child... Jennifer turned, hoping to pull the bookshelf away.

That was all the motivation Glenda needed.

"Bitch!" She shrieked, taking the knife from her father's corpse and running straight for her mother's legs, stabbing straight through the muscle and missing the bone by mere fractions of an inch. Jennifer screamed, collapsing against the bookcase, as her demented, furious daughter pulled back for another stab.

"Glenda, no!" The cry surprised both of them, but Glenda didn't have time to react, as the hockey stick knocked her back off her feet. She hit the wall with a sound similar to an egg hitting the kitchen floor, and blood began to trickle down her face. But Glenda was too pumped with adrenaline to notice such petty annoyances as pain. She stared at Glen, pale and wimpy as ever, shaking as he attempted to guard his mother, hockey stick raised high. Red patches ignited in Glenda's cheeks, her face twisted into a hideous snarl.

"Shitface."

"I won't let you hurt her."

"Please. You think I can't kill you too?" To illustrate her point, she ran forward, knife pulled back and ready to strike. But Glen was prepared. He dropped the hockey stick, revealing the screwdriver, still wet with blood, and before Glenda could back up and reassess, the screwdriver had pierced her skull, lodging down into the middle of her brain. Her eyes rolled back in her skull and she instantly collapsed.

Glen stood, frozen for a moment, looking down at the twitching body of his sister. She wasn't dead, but she wasn't in a position to hurt anyone. He turned, slowly, and carefully, to face his mother. There was an immeasurable well of sadness in his eyes.

"Mummy." He whispered. "I think you should call the police." And with that, he blacked out.


	17. Epilogue

**A.N. first off, a great big thanks to everyone who's read this and offered feedback. It's been fun for me, and I hope it's been fun for you. Now, in classic child's play style, an epilogue.**

Everything was very dark. Glen looked down at his hands, and could see the pale skin clearly. He was almost luminous. He looked around the darkness with a sense of calm that he hadn't felt in a while. He guessed he must be dreaming. He wandered through the dark chamber, towards the sounds of voices. Suddenly, a scene lit up in front of him. His mother, newly incarnated as Jennifer Tilly, with a dressing gown over her green hospital smock, was throwing severed chunks of plastic into a dumpster. He knew exactly which night this was. He saw himself, in his doll body, sat by the dumpster, looking terrified.

"Don't you worry, sweetface." His mother was smiling down at him, but there was no warmth in her eyes. "Your father's dead. He's never going to come back."

"I... I killed him." The doll Glen whispered. "I'm a killer."

"No, sweetie." She hugged him. "You're a hero. You saved us. And your sister. But you can't ever tell anyone about this. Promise me. Promise you'll try and forget all about this life, and I'll promise you that you'll never have to kill again. Ok, sweetie?"

"I..."

"Please, Glen."  
"Yes, mummy. I promise."

So much for that, Glen thought, letting the scene fade away. Another couple of memories rushed past him, mostly just Glenda beating him up and threatening him. Glenda... one of the memories paused. There she was, her pretty face contorted in rage, porcelain white skin flushed with anger, petulant pout on her lips. How did it feel to know he would never see her again? Odd. There have been case studies on the effect of separation in twins, and Glen could understand the oddly severed feeling he was undergoing, but... Somehow, it felt like she wasn't dead. Maybe he just hadn't come to terms with it yet. He heard a woman crying. He knew, although he wasn't sure how, that he'd have to leave the cool, calm darkness, and go back to the noisy, busy, scary world. He did so with a renewed sense of duty. He needed to look after his mother.

Glen's eyes fluttered open, and slowly the brightly lit hospital ward swum into focus around him. His mother was sitting on a chair by his bed, next to Neil, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Don't cry, mummy." He croaked, causing both of them to look up, with happy, relieved smiles.

"Baby! You're ok!" Jennifer sniffed, standing and holding Glen's hand. Neil moved closer to the bed, and Glen realised that he was in a wheelchair. He gasped.

"Neil, are you alright?"

"I... I should be fine." Neil nodded, exchanging glances with Jennifer.

"What happened? Did the police...?"

"Just after you passed out, I ran outside to get the police. They brought us all here, and have been taking witness statements. I haven't been able to go back to the house."

Glen nodded, staring at the foot of the bed, trying to handle all of this information calmly. Jennifer rested a hand on his mop of ginger curls, stroking his forehead. "Sweetie... you're going to have to tell a little lie to the police."

Glen looked up at her, shocked.

"They'll never believe the truth. You just need to say that you didn't see the man who attacked you."

"Oh... ok..." Glen shifted, uncomfortably.

"If they run tests on your father's body, then we'll have to tell them, but unless that happens, we just say we didn't see them."

"Glen." Neil's voice was measured, and calm. "It's for the best."

Glen nodded, forcing a weak smile as Jennifer and Neil held hands, with similar tired, saddened, sickly smiles.

The spell itself had been easy. Especially since no one could hear him. It had been a long shot, and he had actually been surprised that it worked at all. Shit, if he hadn't used these powers to kill people, he'd be a freaking miracle worker by now. But that was neither here nor there; the hard part was moving.

He knew he'd only have a limited amount of time. Glenda's body was still twitching when the police arrived on the scene, but there were gaps. They were, at first, preoccupied with getting Glen, Jennifer and Neil onto the ambulances and out of the way. Meaning no one noticed when the little doll was absent. The evening shadows proved great cover, as the small, dark figure dragged the twitching vegetable of a corpse across the road, pulling her by her arms. Back in the day, he would have ditched her, gone back to Cult Cutters ad sorted himself out. Maybe come back for her if he had the time. But he couldn't face the idea of leaving her there. Death is one thing. But being caught between dead and alive? He didn't want to imagine what Glenda would be like after being trapped inside her own mind for just a few hours. Glen probably thought he was being kinder not killing her. The figure's eyes narrowed, as he resumed dragging the body with renewed vigour. Savage little bastard couldn't have been more cruel.

The house across the street was still empty, not having been disturbed since the father-daughter duo had left it almost three days ago. The figure dragged the doll inside, knowing that the police would be far too preoccupied to notice a slamming door or a lit window here or there. They'd probably think it was the neighbours.

The figure left Glenda at the foot of the stairs, momentarily gazing into her unseeing eyes, before pulling himself up the stairs, one by one. It was arduous work, but eventually he made it to the collection room. Being under a foot tall was not fun, nor was it useful. He looked around the collection room, searching for a doll the appropriate age and appearance. Eventually, he spotted one wearing a dress that appeared black, but glinted green when the light caught it. She had red ringlets tied up in bunches either side of her head, and mystifying blue-green eyes. Perfect. It took a couple of wobbly pokes with the fallen curtain pole, but eventually the doll toppled to the floor. Going down stairs was easy, although Glenda's new body suffered a couple of blows... nothing major, though. Placing the hollow doll next to the mentally incapacitated form of Glenda, the figure gazed down on them. The new doll was a little taller. A little more... grown up. Not that that was a bad thing. He supposed he wanted to see her grow up, somehow.

He nodded, beady eyes set, and lips scowling. He would put her in a new body. She would carry him back to Cult Cutters. He'd get back into something more familiar. They'd get the hell out of here and find a way to stay alive. That was all the plan he needed. Gingerly, using both hands to compensate for his lack of fingers, he reached forward and pulled the screwdriver from Glenda's head, the sound making him shudder.

"It's gonna be ok, Glenda." He hoped she could hear him. His voice was somewhat muffled by the plush insides of this new vessel, but he hoped she knew his voice. "Your daddy's got you."

Chucky held his black, furry paws over the two dolls, raising his teddy bear muzzle to the sky, before clearing his throat, and beginning to chant. A storm brewed outside, for the second time that evening, lightning flashing and shining off of the "UnDeadTed" tag through his ear.

"Ade, Due, Demballa... Give me the power I beg of you..."


End file.
